The Missadventures of the Unkindled
by elegate1
Summary: "The nature of Lothric is murky..." Many-a pilgrims say, and murky as it is, the tales of its inhabitants carry a similar essence; unbound to time, unpredictable. Anything can happen on the barren plains, for better or for worse. But rest assured, the deeds of its heroes transcend across the ages. And maybe across worlds as well, reaching ours as a far cry.
1. Dork Souls

Hey. I wanted to write something different cause I'm kind of exhausted of Stanley Parable for the time being, I'll still finish it though. Here's this short (Very short) scrape of a story I wrote one day feeling really bored. There are a couple more to come as I have a bunch written in paper, I'll post them here, maybe today. Enjoy!

* * *

 **First time into the Shrine**

* * *

He came.

Gowned in a thin leather cloth; wielding a mighty club, tinted red by the blood of his foes.

The Ashen One emerged from the fog and strode into the Shrine, his squared shoulders tense, his gaze determined, his steps clamorous, his –

…He _rolled_ into the Shrine. Then he fell. Then he died.

…For a second time the Unkindled Champion ROLLED into the Shrine. I said no words as he strode forth and kindled the bonfire. At last, he turned sharp and began his way towards me. Excitement crept across my chest, that special tingle every Firekeeper knew; what each felt when her own Champion sought her for guidance. He was close, I pursed my lips, to recite the words I practiced countless of times, and –

…He… _rolled_ past me, and headed straight for our trusted smith, Andre. A chaste smile came to my lips. Maybe, this Champion was already in knowledge of his daunting task; naturally, he needed the finest metal work to cleave open his path. His steps echoed loudly within the desolated Shrine as he strode, past our resident handmaiden and forth to his goal. Andre's clatter ceased, a sight of rarity. Thrilling. Both peered at each other in silence, unmoving, seemingly studying the other, measuring valo –

" _Hey Scruff Mc'Gruff, fancy seeing you here!_ " the Ashen One spoke. Andre stared silent. Had the two been acquainted in years past? Had the Champion already made his parade through the Fortress of Sans in Lordaran? I focus back onto him, as he spoke again.

" _Well, that's that for introductions. Gotta speedrun this, Sorry gritty!_ " And then I watched in eyeless incredulity as the Champion murdered our smith.

* * *

 **Countless hours of gameplay later**

* * *

The _Ashen Fuck_ came back, Gwyn spare me.

What did he want this time? To strengthen himself? Embers? To kill us for a third time?

Oh, apparently not. Another time he walked towards Andre, and the look the old man gave him spoke volumes of his regards.

" _Hello my bearded servant! I'm very sad to announce that I have once again broken my equipment in my sacred quest for the speedrun, care to lend me hand?_ " His words made my ears weep. But Andre was strong-willed, of conviction mirroring my own. He said nothing as he nodded and gave his hand to receive the gigantic Greatsword (Ultra Greatsword, apparently) our Champion insisted on using.

Speedrun my taint, records of old speak of Champions linking the flame in a journey from Sun to Sun. It's been months since 'his big annoyance' arrived, and no progress had been made.

He hadn't made his way out of Lothric, or across Lothric, our out of the Shrine really. I sometimes wonder if Gundyr was having a bad day when the Champion bested him. An intentional defeat, mayhaps?

I plunged back to reality when his hideous lips asked me to speak. I repeated the same sentences as always, just out of spite, and I saw him roll away, as he did many times before.

Had my ancestors suffered a Champion akin? I chanted a silent prayer, a plea, for such a thing to remain unknown, hopefully untrue.

At last, he left for his quest, and I wondered how many times he'd die before crawling back to wail his bickers on us. Maybe kill us another time, for good measure. I sighed.

Perhaps the Age of Dark wasn't that bad of an idea.

* * *

The 90% legit experience of one of my friends playing Dumb Souls 3. I prefer a more delicate approach :)


	2. Drama Souls

There were few things on this wretched land that could manage to incite my wrath, a feeling once so volatile that was quelled into shape with each of my defeats, gradually outweighed by patience. That said, such was tested at every turn of my path, against harder challenges each time.

Victory over subconscious followed me at every time; until one faithful day.

The sight before _finally_ managed to crawl under my skin. _Finally_ managed to unearth my wrath from its grave.

The only light source of the cell was that of the fickle torches breaking in through the barred gate, casting a hue over the dust-ridden floor where my shadow was now silhouetted. Temperature dropped drastically as I stepped inside with slow and measured strides. I unwittingly felt an echo of what a prisoner might have felt, whilst a cold shiver ran down my spine, both responses sure to have had their origin on a memory passed from an ancestor of mine, an Unkindled Champion long forgotten.

The room itself was vaguely cubical, and plain as the barren outskirts of Lothric. Filth seemed to be engraved in every cranny of the camber, commuting with rivulets of stale water and moss where the walls met the floor in a junction no longer visible, buried under countless layers of filth. A wave of dampness hit my nose then, clodding my lungs with air that could only be described as _rotten_. As I said, the room was barren – there was no furniture, neither shackles of any sort. The message was clear: This was not a prison…this was a grave, and there was no chance of escaping. Unbeknownst to me, my blood began to boil when a tight knot formed on my stomach. This was inhumane.

What seemed to me like a part of the wall shifted to my right, and I spun to face it out of instinct.

What I saw was the atrocity that finally bested my patience.

On the darkest corner of the cell where not even the fickle light dared to go, a figure shuddered at my entrance, closing in on itself further more than before. It was gowned in black robes, color almost indistinguishable under the thick layers of filth attached to the cloth. I waited. There was no sound, no voice, no movement. Be it by a cruel game of fate, the figure before me was broken in ways only a handful of cures could even begin to heal, and never to their fullest. It was stripped out of every ounce of strength within its body, to the tiniest hint of willpower. Now, there was nothing, or almost nothing. I got in motion after staring at it for an instant, my steps more weary.

Only when I loomed over its dark form it spoke to me. The voice was raspy, of a throat long dry, and soft, velvety as nothing I had laid ear upon. There was an intertwined of pride between each line, sewn to her words for dear life, its last stand against imprisonment. The voice was that of a woman.

" _Oh there you are, I thought you'd all but forgotten me...How sweet. Good to know that a skinny little heretic can still turn heads…_ " …It was with the tone that she got me, that she freed my wrath – her words were so bitter that not even the wisest of sages or the kindest of nuns could keep a straight face while witnessing her demise.

And as a morbid cherry to the cake, her last words threatened to trail into a humorless laugh, but it didn't, and it was as if the cell itself had swallowed her pride. I saw red. Bile rose through my throat and just like that a command of release overrid my brain. I directed my anger towards her pain, shoving my armored fist against the wall over her head a few forceful times. I vowed in silence to end the life of every jailer who ushered misery out of her. But the time for revenge was yet to come.

I breathed out mouthfuls of air for a minute and my anger subsided, dragging my rage with it to the pits of despair within my chest. My wrath was restrained once more, but the smile of malice on its dark face was evident, and it was a sight I would never forget. _It had won_. After another calming breath I made my move on her, who still remained immobile. My hand reached for her shoulder and I gently nudged her to look at me; she offered no resistance.

Her eyes were a heart-wrenching sight, deadpan and broken. They looked at me as if I were nonexistent, forcing her way across me, directing her gaze at the ceiling. It took her a moment to focus. Confusion gave way to a helpless glimmer of hope in her pupils, that was most likely to go unnoticed by her, given the poor nature of her mind-state. But it didn't go unnoticed by her body, which beckoned me, _pleaded me_ with its subtle and silent gestures to do something. But I waited, exhorting patience, as I knew better to give its due time to the confusion to settle, as moments later it turned to surprise.

" _Oh…You're not one of them, are you? Accept my apologies, for mistaking you as one of those leeches_ " A short-lived cackle bypassed the grim aura of the cell and rippled in her throat, proud, and confident, mirroring her words. I found myself surprised by how much the lively sound soothed me – perhaps it was a product of the constant gloom enveloping the dark land; In Lothric, even the smallest of lights was a priced treasure to be guarded with one's life. She wasn't able to see my face through the visor of my helmet, but the smile she brought upon me was something I had long forgotten.

I helped her to her feet and she stood weakly. I didn't want to guess at how long it had been since she last used her legs to walk. They buckled and stirred against each other, threatening to give up at every instant. I was fast to graze her frame by her sides to help her steady herself. And at last, she stood. With a relieving sigh, she continued to speak to me.

" _So, what businesses have you here? This is a land of monstrosities, and I am no exception_ " the sharp sarcasm in her voice would have put me on edge if she were to be anybody elese. If we both were to be anywhere else. Someone who had lost everything harbored little to no regards towards the impression they made. But amidst her walls, I glimpsed at a crack on her guard. It didn't go unnoticed by me, how she enunciated the word ' _monstrosities_ ' as if it meant anything else than hollow sounds to her. She didn't speak the word quite like the rest, no, that particular words she was very deliberate to spit out like a grotesque malformation of the language. It was evident it had been used on herself many times, be it by her jailers or some other evil-doer.

All of this I saw in the tenth of a second, as her opening closed with lightning speed. I didn't press on it, for now was not the time, as my patience advised me. I offered my help instead. I smiled further more when the subtle glimmer of hope returned to her irises in full force, even as her body language expressed incredulity, clearly commanded by her untrusting and disbelieving mind. Deep inside of her she knew I spoke the truth.

" _You are here to save me…? But I am guilty, a wretched child of the Abyss…_ " She leveled her tone to a whisper and her eyes lost themselves on a sight thousands of miles away " _…Is that…something you can forgive?_ "

Her distrust was evident; she wore her hearth on her sleeve. My answer couldn't have been simpler. In a swift motion I brought my hands to my head and pulled off my heavy helmet. She flinched at my sudden motion unwittingly, and she tried to cover herself up by fiddling with her hands, expecting a beating most likely. Again, I said nothing. It was the real sight of my visage what made her understand once and for all...

My eyes said it all and my smile sealed her trust.

Ever gracious, she laughed, too proud on the outside to show her weakness to her savior. Her lost will was slowly returning to her, it seemed. Her attitude felt befitting of her features, senile by a handful of years, evident by the soft swaths of wrinkles, foreshadowed by the poor light of the torches and the short bangs of ashen hair which barely reached to her eyes. A woman who had seen much and done _more_ , she held herself on high regard, proud of her adventures in days past, and it was good. I knew I had done the right thing.

" _Oh really, you are no ordinary man. Very well, besides, I've grown tired of imprisonment_ " Now, it was my turn to laugh at her snide. She raised her hand towards me and I shook it eagerly, never dropping my smile, reassuring and soothing.

" _I am Karla, and I accept your proposal_ " was all that she said before she vanished before my very eyes, sure to materialize at the Shrine with the rest of my aidees.


	3. Dehorn Souls

With this one I bring my rating up to Mature for saucy content ahead ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

* * *

This was so very wrong. _Layers_ upon _layers_ of wrong.

Lusting for him was wrong, craving his touch. The breathless whisper of his name as he presses my form against the high wall of the bell tower, away, far away from the judging stares of my ancestors. Even the darkest of thoughts burning in my heart, pounding at my souls endlessly, time and time again in blasphemous cycles. And to think all became from the mere gift of sight…

He gave me eyes to see the dark in all; but all I found was a light in him.

This was wrong…and besides, I'm supposed to _loath_ him…

…Figuratively speaking…

The Ashen One is not who he once was. He has gained unparalleled skill with his arms, but far above pure strength, the Champion found something more precious in the grimness of Lothric: Insight. His reflection developed humility in his chest, and humility had a vast toll for him to pay. Long past are now the days of the " _speedrun_ ", and heart-born apologies long-overdue have been spoken with sincerity. It warms my heart to see respect lingering in the eyes of the Shrine denizens when he's in sight. One by one he mended the bridges with all of us, giving each a repenting apology, different every time…

Now…I'm not sure if _this_ was part of my own…

…I am _not_ complaining.

Many a-men think of me as the fairest and purest of maidens – and whilst such a titles befits me in these days of dark, there was a time when I was not a maiden at all, and it is so that the fairest of them I am not, and I won't ever be. Tainted in the past via slow nights of " _mourning_ " in the embrace of Andre, or secluded " _lessons_ " in the cares of Lady Irina of Carim…much like the lands we live in, times have changed, and so have our customs…

…Besides, how could I deny him when his own figure puts _my_ own prized beauty to shame?

No-one turned to look at us with a judging eye when a handful of days after he blessed me with such cursed eyes, I voiced in what he thought to be a whisper a plea to develop a deeper relationship between the two of us, and when I pledged to the private nature of our affair regarding the First Flame. The gazes of the onlookers were only scorching, and smug, knowing, and they were often accompanied by sheepish smiles. Nobody stirred an outrage when many-a times we both escaped from the Shrine to sate our carnal desires.

My advances were clear, interested in far more that a fickle flame struggling to grasp its life. I sought something brighter, I sought the white-hot fire of lust burning within his bosom – and he understood, and reciprocated…

…And how scorching his acceptance was.

I relinquish any form of thought when his hand that was on my waist anchors me to reality by roaming upwards and pressing itself against my own ample bosom, with only the thinnest layer of my gown shielding my decency. I heave and for once my conviction fails me, as the tiniest of moans breaks through my lips, melted to his. His advance relents and he breaks our kiss, leaving my mouth lingering still in the cold air. I open my eyes and I see his blue ones, dark and _smoldering_. He grins at me with lust before coming onto my form and pressing his lips to my sensitive ear, sharp stubble scratching against my cheek.

" _Look at you so full with desire, burning in your very skin…How's that for a flame?_ " He whispers but I barely hear him, lost in my own pleasurous trance. My soft hands cling needily to his back; my movements become more erratic with each second his lips are not on mine.

" _Ashen…One_ " I manage to string between struggled breaths and he cackles before he finally locks our lips together once more with his hand pressing anew against my chest, with a rougher intent. An intrepid thumb finds its way to my taut nipple and the mere graze of it makes a pitchy whimper ripple in my throat. He sighs heavily onto my lips and I feel his grip on me tighten, more lustful than ever. I let out another experimental squeal of pleasure and the dark flames in him dance even brighter.

In a sudden motion he turns me to face my back, one hand holding my own tighter over my body while the other resumes its ravaging roam, plunging to my navel and lower, over my moistened center, pressing my robe against it as he begins to knead. My knees buckle but his vice grips holds me from melting onto the ground in a strengthless bliss, and I moan my lust onto the wall, again and again, caring little for discretion as my world burns down to the two of us alone. Each of his twirls and flicks heightens my pleasure, and I feel my peak nearing, and I welcome it. With one final motion of his digits a fire long gone is rekindled in me, and an instant later my pleasure explodes.

For eons my legs seem to buckle against each other, and my breath refuses to leave my throat, and when at last I undo myself over him, happiness fills me with his embrace, warm and protective, much like the flame I tend to.


	4. Dilly Souls

I might be going slightly mad.

Because every sand-licker that has dragged his or her ash-ridden posterior to this here Shrine is so… _haughty_ , that it makes me have the weirdest of ideas…on how to STUFF THEIR BLOODY THROATS, TO SILENCE THE CRAP THEY SAY!

…* _Ahem_ * Moving on – you may know me as Andre of Astora, and my call is to smith. I am for the irons, and for the irons alone…

…So, with that said…why does everyone on this _blasted_ Shrine think I'm its certified _blasted_ shrink?

" _Why won't he marry me?!_ " I hear that knightess Anri wail about, day after day after day, as she comes to visit me at the same hour of the night, never missing a " _session_ ".

" _Why won't he marry her?!_ " Yuria of Londor complements on her own meeting, just after my time with Anri.

" _How could he marry her?!_ " Lady Sirris lets out even later, well into the night by then. Priving me from my sleep.

And when they leave each time I sigh, having said nothing but tempered greetings for the past hours. Maybe that's what makes me a shrink? Because I _listen_ when folks talk?

…What a life mine is.

All of this I ponder about, deep in thought, as I hammer into shape the dents of the preferred sword of our champion. How on Lothric he manages to mangle his arms in such short notice escapes my reasoning. I close my eyes and I let my body tune in the rumbles of each strike. Smithing is _good_ , it eases my thought. Feeling each powerful coup, hearing every clattering sound fading into nothingness… _music_ to my ears, harmonious, and reassuring of the truth imbued in my crafts. A metal of mighty bulk is what I pray for and what I wish about on a day with no end in sight – something strong to withstand my thrusts as I hammer my edge away.

…As metal is all I get to " _Hammer_ " these days, ever since our blonde sparrow found a nick of jogging out of sight to smear her robes in _warm ash_. My mind drifts, chasing a dream of wander, as my bulwark strikes fall on my work with renewed strength…unwittingly.

The moon is out. Well out, by the sight of the crescent light cascading in, so pale around the warm fires of burnt ash. So be it, I care little for time and so do my companions, for what does 'time' mean to someone who knows they will find no end?

Finished with repairs, my work this night rounds to a daunting task; our Champion has brought forth remnants of the great titanite slabs of old, and only a handful of smiths are as privy to their whims as I am. The care I lend to each weapon I work on is exquisite, having me engrossed on my task without a care for the world around me. Such is the reason why I don't notice the man scurrying his lithe form towards me until he's right before me, looking at me funny with a scowl that harbored violence as a plausible response. I restrain myself.

" _Pardon me, you old hag, could you be most kind to stop you primitive clobbering for a moment, could you?_ " Oh no, he did _not_ call me _primitive_. I bite my pride – I clamp onto it _so hard_ that it _hurts_. I do not spoil for quarrels on my abode, even if my honor's on the line. I stop my ' _clobbering_ ' then, and I drag my eyes from my metals to his own blue gaze, slowly enough to distraught any trespasser. Needless to say, I aimed for a perturbed expression. My greeting rumbles on the walls around.

" _Orbeck…_ " is the word that comes out of me and it does so escorted by a heavy sigh. It sounds of disdain and frankly it is not how I aimed it to sound, for his sight is a rare treat near my trusted anvil and the man is a fickle creature of vast intellect. Curiosity begins to nib at my mind.

" _I've come to know in my stay of your…capabilities, to listen to a poor soul's problems…Some even say you offer…'unique' advice…it is – perchance – a truth, this?_ " Straight to the point he is, I see; it fazes me little to know he has sought my enclosure to have me lend an aiding hand to whatever his troubled cause is. However…something does, indeed, manage to faze me. His tone, maybe? He did sound rather ' _queasy_ '…no, that word doesn't do it…' _embarrassed_ ', mayhap? I find him yapping his lips again and just then I notice my lack of an answer. Maybe my eyes had spoken for me. " _I see the claims were true…Smith of Astora, I have something most mundane to ask of you…Could you…listen to the problems_ _…_ _of the man that stands before you?_ "

Oh yes, embarrassment is _definitely_ the right word. Who would have guessed that the dirty little skeevy scoundrel felt them shivvy-shivers in his knees at the moment of pleading for help and guidance? …Well, I have…The though sorcerer not being as though as he prided himself to be is a tale of old, now retold.

I pledge myself to enjoy his squirms.

With a subtle beckon and a growl from my part, he sits before me as straight as the pole of a halberd – A stance of undoubtable queasiness that brings the laughter boiling in my stomach up to my throat, where I just barely manage to hold it together. After an eternal silence, he deems himself ready to yap away, and so he speaks words he has undoubtedly practiced. " _I'll say this clear, old man…Methinks...*Sigh* Look…_ _I think I might be a bit 'coarse' to people around me…_ "

Maybe it was his scowl.

Or his body language, for that matter.

Whatever it was – I couldn't hold my laughter.

With such a booming sound, even the lime and moss of the Shrine trembled on their foundations. His steps are quick as they storm out of my groove, prying the eyes of onlookers on his stride for the gate. Oh the look that sack of bones at the corridor gives me is smoldering, it pierces my deepest core. I shot out behind the man in pursue, feeling those scolding eyes on my back for all the time they could pin me.

Let it be a sad truth, but a truth nonetheless…it's been some time since the Sun has wrapped its tendrils of light around me. Its warmth is not similar to that of a bonfire, artificial and ebbing away – it feels _real_ , and fitting in the sense of a key, to a part of…to a part of my soul I thought it was long gone. I laugh by the low to myself, placing a reminder in my mind to _go out more_. But a serious undertone settles in my vision as I carry on with my duty, combing my way around the compound for any trace of the man I sort-of shamed. I had – at least, and most certainly – burnt away the chipped remains of whatever bridge that still joined us together, and I had _definitely_ sunk the last bit of trust he held for us.

 _Ah_ , not all my choices are always the best, sadly.

I find him high in the bell tower, contemplating the distant scenery of snowy peaks with his back towards me. But is not unknowing of my arrival, I made sure to be boisterous on my way up. I don't encompass the gravity of his downfall until I approach him and he still doesn't turn to face me…I _may_ have overdone it with the kid. I sigh as I round up to his side and I prop myself on the edge as well. If my experience as a listener has taught me some good, the troubled one must always be the one to break the ice, so I prepare to wait in silence until he'd break. My gaze drifts to the Sun then, and I bask in its full glory, radiant as the soul of its eternal lover, a friend of mine long turned into nothing but memories.

The life of the Unkindled is a tragic one, sadly. His image breezes like ash and I find myself staring at painting-like sight of my old abode in Astora, at my age-old forge. An image from days of truly the most forgotten of pasts, and it too blows away in twirls of grey. The fire consumes all.

" _Am I as unendurable as thou all claim me to be, Andre?_ " He stirs me from reminiscence with words that betray a pressing anxiety. It is surprising to see his mask shattered for once, with his true colors spread widely before me. It doesn't surprise me to see they are all shades of cold. I stay silent until I realize his own chaste lips do crave for an answer. A weak knot ties my throat; I am not as skilled with the word as I am with my tools, so I struggle to find them, for they bounce and run in and out of my grasp. A brief thought tells me that maybe, _maybe_ , I may have not been the right person to fetch him – I'm sure anyone can clobber together sweeter words than anything I could ever say, even an old, stone-faced hag. But I am the one with him at the moment and I _do not_ strive for failure.

"… _Nay ya weasel, but ye sure git frisk from time t'time…_ " I say and I pray to each and every faux god I know that he can understand me. Gwyn knows I _barely_ can, most times, and that's not even taking into account the importance of the situation weighting me down. Luckily, the gleam in his eye sings me a song of accomplishment. He laughs with only the barest skinning of humor to his sound, and it is probably directed at my unintelligible words and not at their meaning but it is a welcomed sound to my ears. It's his turn to speak now.

" _So he can string coherent words after all…I was having my doubts, you know, old man?_ " And perhaps I do, because I'll admit it is rare to hear me say something sagely and deeply philosophical, as most of my everyday sounds consist of grunts and growls. Heh…maybe the years have softened me after all. The hairy rock that is my hand makes its way to his back and it pats him roughly. _The twig flinches_. But he doesn't push it away and so it lingers over him, reassuring for the both of us. He may be a skinny whimp, but the look in his eye speaks of a life ridden with nothing but tricky turns.

And merely as a faint delusions of my eyes, perhaps of an apology accepted, and a trust rebuilt.

We trample our way back to the Shrine shoulder to shoulder, chins high and with a subtle smirk adorning our lips. We cross our Handmaiden and I know she's looking at me, but I dare not to look back, and so her face becomes a blur when I pass by.

I catch only the briefest of side-glances of her, and I might as well blame my aging head again, because the smile she showed me must have been an illusion unearthed from my deranged state of mind.

I might be going slightly mad after all.


	5. Diplo Souls

How bizarre would it be to see a man riding on top of a ten-foot-one deaf cripple who dragged himself around on his knees?

Well, surely not as much as gazing at an abomination half-young-boy, half black puddle of evil, or witnessing a group of rogue rejects killing and re-killing each other, stubbornly refusing to die.

Yhorm and Ludeth were the most normal of us; one was a thirty-feet tall giant, the other was grey, and wrinkled and on fire and was missing the entirety of his lower body.

What a bunch of fuckups we were, but it mattered not as we arrived at my throne room, for there was a most pressing score to settle.

" _Now, now, could someone so kindly ask the Watchers to stop murdering themselves for a moment so we can discuss this Linkage problem?_ " Ludeth, always the focused one, asked. Yhorm obliged, roaring at the lanky bunch as he always did. Each of them froze in tandem, many a nick away from some other's throat or vital organs.

" _Thank you, Yhorm. Now, may I call this meeting in order? Good. I'll be brief fellows, the Flame is dying. I know that, you know that, everyone knows that, but it is a grim nuisance nonetheless. And so here's my question for today, who is willing to lend his aid to Link the First Flame?_ " He continued.

…Okay, I will concede that our silence _may_ have been _somewhat_ concerning. It didn't help that every face – every visible face, at least – was a sight of stone. Naturally, I partook. Oh, the face of the half-man was a pleasant sight I would have bought for the entirety of Lothric's treasury. He was _livid_.

" _I…See. Fellow Lords, may I ask you what brought you to such a…tremoring resolution?_ " Poor Ludeth muttered through gritted teeth, making an inhumane effort to restrain his pressing anger. "Aldrich, could you be so kind to commence?"

The half-young-boy part of him smiled, and it felt mildly concerning to feel something stir in my cold chest…I'll admit his soft features were... _oddly appealing_ …Was he really a man? Only Gwyn knew.

" _I shall, fellow Lord. If you must know, my decision has its roots on my recent rebirth and pilgrimage to Anor Londo…Dear, I have it pretty good in the big city! A never-ending buffet of souls at my disposal to eat away, a weather most sensitive to my porcelain skin, countless upon countless of undying servants willing to sacrifice everything for me. Ah, I'm living the good life in Londo, and I'm going to make a brand new start of it…So with that, let me tell you that I'm not quite as ready to let it got_ " Aldrich testified. I peered back at Ludeth and – was he burning? I'm pretty sure he was cooking something to a crisp inside of him with all the anger boiling up in his gut. I may have snickered. He may have burnt brighter. With a strangled voice he muttered: " _Yhorm?_ "

The Big Guy pointed at his meat slappe – Machette, big machete, before breaking into a hilarious act of gestures and guttural grunts. He made himself understood, oddly enough. His answer was quite sincere, and forlornly melancholic; it even made my heart pulse for an instant. Ludeths' flames subsided enough to ask a calm: " _Watchers?_ "

Always the jesters they; what an accurate response theirs was to point at each other as swords stabbed and daggers sliced once again. I wondered how their clothes weren't in tatters by now with all the aforementioned stabbing and slicing going on between them. Maybe some magic shena – Oh wow, Ludeth just EXPLODED into a ball of flames and, ouch, the room got quite hot all of sudden. To our luck, it was short lived. Oh, if he wasn't done already, he stood facing that ridiculous cliff and asking himself if he should just take the plunge. He looked at me then and his face was so miserable I felt a need to answer with the truth. He didn't say anything, we both knew our cues. Lorian, ever the wingman, shrugged for me.

" _I do not know how to answer – to be honest, it wasn't really my call when I became a Lord, so it matters little to me what you do with that plaything of a Flame_ " My answer was. Oh yes, now he was done for.

" _Well, I…guess this wraps our meeting; I'll go ahead and jump off the castle wall to the Shine, probably die and come back a couple of times. Fun times, alright. I'll see you all later, or not, 'suppose it'll be with a Champion of Ash or something if it comes to that, I guess…_ "And just like that he jumped out of his seat and dragged himself across the rugged floor to the outside of my throne room.

Oh, ho ho. The kingdom was in for _good times ahead_ …

* * *

 _And that's how the Lords of Cinder resolved to not give a fuck about the First Flame, and they lived happily ever after._

 _At least until the Champion of Ash came to beat their asses._


	6. Dreaming Souls

Time ago, in days of yore afore I took the mantle of Firekeeper, amidst an era so distant from the dark existence that plagues the present, that I vaguely manage to remember, always with a dreamy mist in my eye, a fire of youth was born within me from the tiniest of sparks; bright with energy, dark with intrigue. It scorched through my being without me even noticing its warmth, carving new roads for my thoughts to follow, that often led to realizations which had seldom passed through my mind up until that point. Bounded by young curiosity, I embraced said thoughts, ominous concepts completely undefined on my innocent self, reserved only for the older to know. Attraction, want, lust. Viewpoints so endearing, inviting even, calling me out to graze them, dragging me at a slow pace. So, I welcomed them.

And I was consumed.

The world cared little for my paradigm shift; but to me, everything had changed. There was a new humming to my thoughts – something that was not there before, and a fresh, dark gleam in my eye. I began to look at my companions, my friends, from a different angle. Attractive, charming, _desired_. Most often than not willing to accept my uncouth advances, of a lowly apprentice on the ways of courtship. It took me remarkably little time to conclude on my own, that for the man I found most attractive my emotions went forth and beyond. That the quivering which flourished in my chest at the mere thought of him was simply too hot to be mere attraction. What I felt for the man was a primitive, raw form of _lust_. And indeed, it was something of strange nature to me, to discover myself deep in thought regarding him at many a-moments, most often reaching to him unwittingly. It became progressively harder to keep my tide of velvet lust in check, and one faithful day I finally let it flow, and I made my move.

A younger Andre, whose mane and beard showed still the barest hints of dark, straw-like hair, was the one who welcomed me to this new world, who served as gatekeeper and guide. He was my first time. The mere harkening of his calloused palms traversing my skin towards my center warms still the lowest of my navel even to this day, delicate when they should have been coarse, treating me like the finest of his crafts. Months we did spend tangled in beds of hay, discovering and rediscovering each other; he, my teacher, guiding me at every time, showing me more than I'd dreamed I would learn. Unending were my lessons, as at every turn we discovered something new.

It was during this time of discovery that the lady Irina of Carim first set foot over the holy grounds of the Shrine, a nun with a heart of gold on a wandering pilgrimage across the lands, blind from birth and _beautiful_ like the purest of miracles to my eyes. Lothric was a land where time itself wasn't linear at all. The future mingled with the past, and many possibilities converged and overlapped onto our reality, thus coming to be. It had forever been like that, and it'd forever be so; it was nothing outrageous to burn smolderingly or not with love for one of your own kin, it had certainly happened before, and it was bound to happen at the end of time. She was the first woman to take residence in the Shrine in many years, according to what our Handmaiden said, and her trusted Knight Eygon was a most welcomed token of safety. She was, also, the first and only woman who could get my knees quivering and my throat knotted just by speaking the right words to say. Oh, the things that woman could say when she deemed necessary to intervene…so warm and reassuring at times and so imposing and cold at others; Her peculiar choice of words was the first hint I latched onto when I felt there was something more to her feelings towards me.

And yet, blind as she was, her preferred method of communication was by touch, and she abused every opportunity to sing to me her attraction in silence, tenderly against my skin. Curiosity bit at my mind for days until I gave in to her ministrations, flourishing a tight embrace into something greater. Irina's stark contrast to Andre showed me pleasure in a different light; Fingers smooth as porcelain yet rough and stiff stroke and felt every inch of my body, every nook and cranny, reading me whole like a brailed tome. And those lips that whispered the sweetest words to me tended to mine, and much, much more.

Andre made a vow to himself and to his pride to remain on par, and it was so that he wooed me as well at every chance he got. My days were filled with bliss as I used every moment to enjoy myself, sharing the nights with him and waking at dawn with her. I was young, so very young, and clueless regarding the true aspects of life, of _my_ life, of all it had to give, so it was easy for me to jump to conclusions, as during one night of tender stargazing I found myself a realization high above on the firmament.

I loved them both.

I split my heart in two then, one half for my trusted Smith and the other for my caring Nun, and they accepted each with a smile that told me they felt the same. My life was the embodiment of happiness and my thought was so ridden with light and warmth that not even the grim reminder of my fate could reach with its dark tendrils to me from the corner of my mind I had pushed it towards, overpowered by pure joy.

…Looking back now, I wouldn't know where to pinpoint our downfall.

Maybe it started with the fading of the Flame, as our Firekeeper announced to us in a tone of concern I would never forget, during one day when she discovered the embers burning colder. The curse of hollowing returned after centuries of dormancy, and many were they who fell under its gelid grasp. Exile after exile abandoned the lively Shrine, replacing the usual clamors and the boisterous chit-chats of the pilgrims with silence, ominous and foreboding. Lothric burned in war, Knight against Knight, faith against faith, with the hollowing stalking the conflict from the sides, ready at all times to dive in to catch an unsuspecting prey. What a twisted irony it was that only at their darkest hours the flames rose defiant over the lands, burning brighter than ever before. All around us everything descended into chaos until rock-bottom was met, and the calm of the post-war settled. Everyone but the very strong had fallen, and many of them were beyond any salvation, corrupted by the Abyss, which feasted on the spoils left behind by each clash of steel, slowly crawling across the land, consuming, _devouring_ everything it touched. But despite it all, our lives in the Shire changed little, shielded by oaths sworn from all sides; my days were still warm, and so were my nights as well. The destiny written for myself remained unaltered, and my heart remained pledged to its rightful owners.

But all changed when Irina left.

The morning they were to leave, her Knight had to stop me from pouring myself over her, from locking her in an embrace I'd refuse to break. I begged, I pleaded, I cried; _she_ cried. Andre stood at my side. Never since have I seen so much rage burning inside of him, so much pain written on his face. He knew how I felt and he shared the weight with me, so very sudden it stung us like a sword to our hearts. I know he would have done anything then to ensure my happiness, even if that meant to engage in combat with a Knight of Carim, but I told him to hold back just before anything rash could happen, anything with irredeemable consequences…I couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to force anything on Irina, she who her blank eyes showed how much our departure hurt her by pouring liquid pain over the pebbled floor of the shrine. As much as she loved me, she still had to attend the call of a higher power, of a higher cause, and maybe it was a fault dragged on by my youthful ignorance, but it wasn't until years later when I finally understood what such a thing meant, _to be part of something bigger_. But a quiet voice in the back of my mind reached out regardless, and told me my beloved Nun was choosing this path out of conviction and not out of spite, so I let her go, but not before sealing a promise with a kiss; to have her return to me one day with the piece of my heart she treasured. She swore she would, and like that both church woman and Knight departed the Shrine to journey back to the land of Carim, which summoned each and every Nun and Priestess they could muster to contain and fend off the curse of hollowing that began to spread out of Lothric into the neighboring kingdoms.

That night there was no passion, only tears and the shoulder of my bearded lover soaked in my pain. I tried to be strong, to build an elusive dream where the three of us lived our lives in happiness, unaffected and uncaring for the twists and cruelties of the land and of destiny. I told myself time and time again how much joy I would feel when she'd come back to my arms, how quickly I'd have her all to myself again. And it helped, at least for some time.

But the months went by. Then the years. Then my hope. The fickle white flame of my _dream_ burned out, and just in time to succeed our Firekeeper, who finally met an end in her old age. At first I refused, holding onto Andre harder and harder with each passing night…But when every wall, every utopian bubble I had built for myself crumbled to ash, my will to fight back…vanished, followed shortly after by any other will still entrenched within me. And that was it, because tired as I was of resisting the tide of destiny, I finally gave in, I finally embraced what the future had in store for me, and I became the Firekeeper. I was prived of my sight during my ascension, but I soon realized that I needed not my eyes to see anymore, for the darkness within everyone was clearly visible to me, and the darkness lingering in the air allowed me to take in my surroundings.

Andre served as my anchor to a humanity I was edging away from with each passing day, with each new dark tendril making its nest in my bosom, and for a time I could make him happy, and I could feel his soul dance and sway with joy. And for a time he tried to ease the burden bestowed upon my frail shoulders, helping me get through the most somber of days. But as the years went by, hand in hand with my youthful indifference, the love that tied us… _withered_. It was an unavoidable truth, that one faithful day I would have to open the gate of adulthood…but nobody… _nobody_ prepared me for what I would face.

I faced the truth.

I faced my fantasies, my utopias, _my dreams_ – everything I had built around me as facsimile walls for my feeble emotions under a new light, a _different_ light, that highlighted things I had never wanted to see…

I saw their weaknesses, their cracks, and it was through them that for the first time I saw myself, or rather my inner self, and I contemplated how _frail_ I truly was. How _frail_ everything I ever said, did, thought or dreamed was. And that was when I was beaten, when I stepped through the doors of adulthood I had all but crossed, leaving behind the crumbling remains of my youth and of my innocence, and walking towards the maturity that awaited me.

In time, I gave up on every dream of mine, knowing the futile nature of holding onto them, of staying by a dying fire until it would meet its end. And Andre understood, and for once I realized why so; He always knew how we would end, even from the beginning. Everything I slowly began to unearth about my own insides; how reckless, how innocent and how utterly oblivious to so much I was, he already knew. He had known since long ago, and yet he had added coals to those fires of lies to bring a much needed joy to my life. Such was the dilemma of adults; such was the weak nature of our task, to comfort the young to ease their passage into our ranks. It was another horrible truth I grew accustomed to in time.

When the day finally came where I resigned my dream of love to the endless vastness of nothing that was the abyss, I found no grief on his acceptance, no pain in it, because he had already experienced so much of it that he was quite simply numb to the heart-ache.

But his soul as well his hand still trembled when he gave back his cherished piece of my heart, for he was human after all, and for I was human too.

I…I could never thank him enough now, for not _disappearing_ from my life then…I'm sure I would have been consumed by the dark I fight against with each passing day if it weren't for him and for the grounding presence of his old, old soul. He remained a friend, in spite of not using the term " _family_ " to describe our relationship, and he remained still as my lover sometimes even, but on truly rare and diminishing occasions. My days were pledged to the flame, and to the flame alone, waiting for the pre-destined arrival of a Champion of Ash.

And indeed he came, with a few tumbles I may add, that he quelled into shape with time. He trailed Lothric on his quest to restore the flame, combing every crevice, burrow and wretched hole in the land for treasures abroad, that sometimes took the form of Undead men and women, still sane enough to pledge their talents to the man destined to save their lives and their future. I learned to expect nothing akin from each fresh newcomer, as they were all so different and diverse from each other that I barely remembered some of their names. Sometimes, they spoke around the Shrine and I barely knew who was the maker of such sounds…

 _Until one day_ , he brought someone whose voice I _did_ recognize. Coarse, sarcastic, imposing and deep; the voice of a proper Knight…that I knew by heart. And if he had stridden in, then a certain Nun must have followed as well…

"I _thank thee, Champion of Ash, for offering me a purpose on thine crusade…May I be of service to thee…"_

She had returned. She had kept her promise.

But nothing was the same. There was no knot in my throat, no smile on my lips, no drumming in my chest. My heart didn't skip a beat, and neither did my spine tingle or my knees quiver.

Now, the only thing that remained was darkness. Everything to me…was darkness.

So much had changed with each passing year that it wasn't a surprise to hear her voice weaker, far more mature than ever before. Her soul wasn't the same either – I admit that I have been able to see the souls of men and women since birth, which is the reason behind my upbringing as a Firekeeper. As of then, when I was solely able to see through souls, the only thing that lingered like an open would in my thought was the detailed memory of souls, particularly of those inherent to the ones dearest to me. Suffice to say, I could remember the soft mangle of dark that was her soul as clear as the rash communion of multiple beings that was my own – and the first thing I noticed, was that her soul had changed.

It was not a subtle change though, and yet I couldn't place its meaning, its motive right away…until the soft echoes of her steps came to my ears, as I felt her approaching me…then it hit me. Each and every soul hailed from the same primordial puddle of darkness, and they were nothing more than a mere extension of it. They were amorphous entities of dark, and yet some were darker than other. Her soul had possessed a remarkable brightness in the past…but now her light was dim, suffocated by the darkness of men I spoke of. But what I realized as she halted her approach was that such trait had not been born from within her…and instead had many sources. Many a-men's souls. And they stirred and tossed and spasmed, lashing at the world. They had not accepted their hostess, and there was only one way that such a thing could happen…

I wanted to laugh at the twisted irony; she had tried to become a Firekeeper herself, but the darkness of men had rejected her.

It was logical to a fault; a woman of faith would never be accepted by something so wretched and miserable.

What a cruel thing that life was.

Only once she spoke to me. Only once she reached a tired hand to grasp mine, knowing by heart where to find it…only once she sealed our lips together, softly, as if they were two pieces meant to fit together, to fulfil an oath long withered.

Only once did the world stop for an instant…and the sad truth of such a thing was…that _I_ was part of that world.

 _Nothing_.

I did nothing, stood motionless, frozen…Too cold for her warmth to reach me.

Time began to tick again as she backed away from me. The world was in motion again, but my heart remained frozen. Her echo of her steps was loud and heavy amidst the silence, incriminating and remorseful, and they carried her away until I could see her souls no more. She had understood my answer, and she had accepted _my_ sad truth.

And I thought, foolishly if I might add, that that would be the bitter end to close our tale, to finish a chapter of my life like a fickle ember burning its last remains away to lend its ashes to other fires…

…How foolish of me.

Fate and destiny had _always_ been fondly reacting to me – one day, the Champion of Ash brought to me a gift he unearthed that I simply could not refuse. I felt it before he approached me, before he even entered the shrine. It was something of a darkness unpaired that at first, for just an instant, I confused with his soul. But very soon I discovered that not even the D _ark Soul_ itself was as dark as what the Champion was carrying. It was with a trembling hand that I pressed his offering close to me, and with a quivering spirit that I gawked wordlessly as the world around me took shape before my new eyes.

First, I found the pebbled floor, then the bonfire I had tended to since days untold, then the rest of the Shire, and then the world. What I saw was not the lands I had left behind. What was dark and yet alive when I parted with my sight had been hollowed to naught but mere ashes now. All was ash, in fact.

It dawned on me then, how close the cycle of the Linking was to its apogee, to its dusk-like end, how the barest breeze of change could sweep away all we had wrought to the oblivion of nothingness. The First Flame was dying, and never before had I seen it more clearly.

But not everything had to crumble; for even ash could be rekindled.

The Age of Fire might have been damned ever since the primordial flame had its first flicker, but us who commuted and forged ever onward in it did not deserve such a cruel fate.

There was feeling in my heart for the first time in an eternity, not of love, but of something I could not express with words at all. A sort of gratitude to our Champion, that manifested firstly as attraction, and then became a form of _want_.

He was the start to a crusade of amends I embarked upon in stride to set ablaze ashes for the purpose of letting them burn with warmth long-forgotten for one last time, before all would end with cold darkness. It took me some time, but bridges once burnt managed to be rebuilt one piece at a time, and smiles began to show in wrinkled and hunched faces. The animosity towards one another faded, and _laughter_ was heard in the Shire for the first time in centuries, and it felt more alive, even if just a tiny bit.

It was a matter of time before I would have to confront she who had suffered so much thanks to me. Naturally, she was the last person I approached, questioning myself repeatedly if it was right to seek her with friendly intentions. But all it took me was _one_ glance at her immobile figure, sulking into itself and trapped all around by the darkness of the dampest corner of the shrine, to answer myself.

Who was I trying to fool, I still loved that woman.

I learned a valuable lesson in the end; that dreams and utopias were not only exclusive to the youthful, for an adult of countless winters could too fall prisoner to the happiness such a thing could bring them. There was, however, a difference, for an adult was not a child and a child was not an adult, and so the way each viewed life was different, and every adult had a different view themselves. To the child, the youthful, dreaming came easy, it came in strides even, and it stayed with them until they had to part ways. Dreams rarely made their way to the adults, for they knew life and they knew the turns it could take, and they knew that dreaming only distracted them and prompted them to take those turns sharply, to meet with walls and dead-ends. But each and every adult had once been a child, and so each and every one of them knew, unwittingly or not, that if only they approached the concept with a different angle, with a different belief, they could find themselves entangled in dreams once again.

But where the child could only keep on dreaming, the adult could make those dreams come true.

* * *

Kept you waiting, huh?


	7. Daffy Souls

Suppose this is somewhat R-Rated?

* * *

Greetings; my name is Irina of Carim, and I once was a duty-bound nun. Now, I can solemnly call myself a fulfilled Firekeeper, and above of that a friend to our Champion of Ash. My story is a tragic one, plagued by visions of the dark, but be it as it may, not all of its corners have been sullied by this stain. There is still light if you so wish to find it, and it is by my will today that I'll try to share some of it with you.

You see, there are certain things that us who are touched by the blind do not wish to tell in fear of losing our sense of honor, for we experience our lives under different contrasts, and we react in a manner often unfeasible to those gifted with sight. It is not uncommon to…confuse things. But after experiencing so much pain throughout the years I've come to the realization that some of the anecdotes I'm to tell you today are not tales of embarrassment but of silliness instead. And I can certainly do with a little bit of silly to ease the grim, oppressing yoke of destiny.

Sit with me today, faraway listener, and allow my tales to traverse worlds to reach your ears. Allow my soft spoken passages to dwell not in sermons of a gone church but in visions of warmth and ease. Sit with me, and grant me the privilege to tell wondrous tales for one last time afore the dark consumes us all.

* * *

"… _So please, hold out your hand…and touch me…_ " I utter helplessly at the person who has come and found me here, lost amidst a total darkness. I am a fool to think I could have seen such a far-fetched dream as being a Firekeeper fulfilled. I am a woman of faith, of light. The dark will never accept me as its host. The souls of the damned nibble at my flesh, biting, scratching, tearing. I am in great pain, almost unbearable pain but it is now that I see some hope. I sense a soul in the person before me which is unlike any other. I can barely distinguish its fickle glow from the total darkness and that is because it is not a bright soul like those I carry with me. The person hosts a dark soul, and is thus a Champion of Ash, a Rekindler of the Flame.

Maybe they'll be willing to kindle my flame.

I wait for what seems like centuries for them to make a move, hearing their steady, processing breathing, how they shift their weight between their armored legs, how the wind is sweeping in through the barred door, how the critters are scurrying below, how the bonfire outside crackles with life where my trusted knight is taking his rest.

I wait for ages until I hear the Champion move differently, shuffling on their spot, making too much sound for me to discern any single movement. They keep at this for a moment, and then 'silence' befalls around us once again. For a few breaths I begin to fear their decision has been made and is negative, but it is then when I hear their voice for the first time.

" _Sure thing, sweetcheeks. Gimmie your hand up here, an' I'll make ya feel real good_ " a male voice says to me and I can't help it but smile at his acceptance. I gladly raise my hand to touch his, and I can feel my palm making contact with something.

The change is instantaneous.

The darkness recedes; the souls lay down appeased and my chest stops aching with pain. A calm begins to swirl in my bosom that I have never experienced as an upcoming Firekeeper. I have been blessed by the touch of an Unkindled One; I have found my purpose as a tender of the flame.

I slowly regain what senses had been lost in my suffering…and I begin to take in things that I had not fore-felt. What I'm touching with my digits is clearly anything but another hand. It's round and heavy and warm. A new smell breaks through my nostrils; a humid odor of sweat. Something akin to a male musk. With a careful movement I apply some pressure with my hand and I feel as the body part constricts unto itself.

I am not stupid by any stretch of the imagination, and as my mind begins to plot its machinations I take the chance to inquire. " _Champion of Ash…may I know what am I grasping at?_ " I ask him with a soft spoken voice and I hear his already labored breathing pick up and the stop for a moment as he opens his mouth to answer me.

And he shouts _"DEEZ NUTS!_ " before he runs outside and he claps hands with my Knight, as they both proceed to share a rambunctious laughter.

And I am left here with my hand in the air and a dumb look in my face because I found out too late that I was groping the god-damned testicles of the Champion.

Maybe the Age of Dark isn't that bad of an outcome after all.

* * *

My retribution has not been, by any sense of the word, _swift_.

" _Irina, please I beg you, please make it stop, please!_ " The Champion of Ash continues to plead at me as he squirms under my dark sorceries. The churches of Carim are vast and full of knowledge. Suffice to say, I've picked up a dark miracle or two during my travel across my homeland.

The sorcery appropriately titled " _Gnaw_ " is of a particularly vicious kind. More so if casted directly upon a defined area.

Good thing I know his ballsack like the palm of my hand.

In the distance, I sense the mangle of souls swirling in the bosom of the resident Firekeeper, and I need not eyes to know she is paying witness to this scene of cruelty. I need not eyes to know she is smiling at the silliness of the situation. I hear many a laughs echoing towards the heavens, of the Smith, of the Handmaiden, of my Knight.

I find it all too credible the fact that none of them have an ounce of compassion for the Champion of Ash. He is kind of a dick.

And speaking of dicks.

" _I will give thee another chance, Champion. Repent thyself upon this maiden and swear to change thy evil ways, else thou want to have thy manhood severed as well…_ " I tell him and I feel no shame in the playfulness of my tone.

I hear the fits of laughter doubling in volume.

" _I-I will change, I swear, I'll-I'll be good!_ " He lets out in a rush as he continued to writhe over the damp floor.

But I am not done with him, not quite yet. " _Swear it on thy ashes, Champion. Swear thou shalt first become hollow afore thou might continue spreading thy evil_ " I am a woman of faith but revenge is a godless-born concept.

He makes a painful sound before he answers. " _I-I swear it! I shall first become hollow before I might continue spreading my evil!_ " And even after that I allow the spell to linger for a few more seconds before I release him.

" _I am always at thy service Champion; doubt not to seek me if thy ways shalt stray from righteousness…_ " I finally tell him with a calm, easy voice as I hear him getting up.

He is already limping away when he fires back at me, uttering a lowly " _Yeah, fuck you…_ " before he disappears from my hearing range.

Something tells me I will fit in here just fine.

* * *

What I find myself touching is something I fail to recognize despite giving my best efforts to identify its essence.

The chamber reeks of eld and ash, and although I do know of its purpose I fail to know of its state.

The air is cool and dry around my delicate frame. Stale, even. It speaks of abandonment and enclosure. The ground I walk upon nibbles softly at my feet with jagged protrusions, and I can feel as I take my strides how a curtain of dust cascades from my soles and drizzles down my ankles to its previous receptacle underneath me. I hear sounds as I take these strides; I hear muffled steps and a dozen creaks of objects being stepped on. I hear the whirr of a breeze sweeping in and up the high tower and I hear the skittering of little creatures vanishing at my presence. I hear the grass outside when the wind reaches to caress it and I hear the humming of birds soaring over the clouds. I hear the turning and grinding of the stone blocks which make up the walls and I hear myself, and my breathing and my heart beating and the blood rushing through my veins.

My hearing has always been stellar. I suppose it was the way my body followed to compensate for my lack of sight. My other senses are heightened as well but none of them reach the peak levels of sensibility my hearing surpasses. It truly is my gift.

But sometimes, a gift can be overwhelming. Or blinding.

I hear so many things at once as I stride into the Tower of Firekeepers that I fail to pay close attention to everything else. I carelessly bump into things I can't see and I stub my small toes more than once before I traverse the chamber towards its other end. It is there where I bring my hands down to touch something I do not recognize.

Its surface is pristine and cold to the touch. It feels hard against my digits. I can feel a layer of ash moving with my finger as I run its tip across the object, sensing how it curves prominently as I bring my hand to its left side. I run my finger upwards and I find a hole and then another to its right. I go further up and I find more curves.

I retire my hands for a moment only to furrow my brows at my ignorance, doubling then my efforts to identify the object.

I decide to allow my other senses to aid me in my inquiring as I bring both my arms towards my goal and I get a hold of the object, bringing in near my visage without much difficulty. That's when I bring my nose close to it and I try to inhale its scent only to be attacked by the presence of ash burying into my nostrils. I sneeze four times before I manage to compose myself, and then I feel irate at the shameful situation and unsuccessful endeavor.

I steel my nerves instantly, however, and I bring the sleeve of my tunic to clean the ash lingering on the surface of the object. It takes me some time to stop feeling the grinding of ash particles underneath my fingertips but I manage to get my prize clean enough to bring my nose once again close to it. So I take another whiff.

The smell is a fragrance I don't recognize. Not quite stale but not quite aromatic either. It clearly smells of ash as the whole chamber reeks of ash, but beneath what's apparent, an odor of something is present. Of something I can't quite place.

It is at this point that I realize how my patience is growing thin, and how with it my heartrate quickens and my stomach constricts itself. I hear my throat groaning and growling and I hear myself making a plethora of tiny, different sounds that manage to overwhelm my senses and distance me from my goal of unearthing the nature of the object in my hands.

It is when my patience finally vanishes when I bring my tongue to the object and I drag it across its surface, feeling not a single bit ashamed about my utterly shameful action.

Naturally, the taste of the mystery object is not a pleasant one. It is sour and bitter and oddly reminiscent of sand. And my failure to recognize it is to me the final straw.

I storm out of the chamber without a care in the world for the sounds that encircle me and I make my way to the edifice of the Shrine. I do not step wrongly on the way and I do not make wrong turns; I've come to know my surroundings with a painstaking precision only ever demonstrated by those who 'see' the word differently, like myself. I dodge into the spacious central chamber of the Shrine to hear the incessant hammering of the Smith Andre and the crackling of the bonfire I tend to next to my equal. I begin to see the souls of those present, of the Handmaiden and of the Smith, of the Dark Witch and the Pyromancer. I see the swarm of souls on the bosom of my equal and at last I see the darkest of souls belonging to the Champion of Ash. I stride forth.

As I barge in, I begin to hear my steps on the stone floor and how they sound hurried and heavy as I proceed on my irate crusade. I hear how everyone present turns to look at me but I care not for their reactions at the moment, for I have a mission to accomplish.

I descend to where my Champion is waiting for me and I hold out the object in my hands for him to see. Then I talk. " _Great Champion of Ash, do thy servant a favor if you would and speak thee of the mystery I hold in mine hands_ " My voice is hurried and my tone is clipped and for a moment I regret my intrusion but my ire quickly makes that thought go away.

I feel the stare of the Champion shifting between the object and my hollow eyes, I hear his armor shifting as he moves, his breathing working steadily, processing. He is thinking of how to speak to me about the nature of the object, which immediately leads me to think about it as well, which in turn leads me to re-evaluate the clues I've gathered.

And then it hits me; the place, the position, the texture, the smell, the flavor. It hits me swiftly like a spear and it drives me to a blank state for precious seconds which my Champion uses to reveal to me what I already know.

" _Um, Irina…that's a skull…_ " he says with an interesting tone and the accursed objects falls from my grasp so quickly that I barely recall loosening my fingers.

And to make matters worse, the only sound that manages to come out of my idiotic throat is a mere " _Oh"_ that leaves me looking like a fool who hears too much, like how the breathing of the Champion falters as he tries to muffle a fit of laughter.

* * *

I'm pretty sure IRL blind people are above shit like this. But it's the Dark Souls universe we're talking about, there's never enough shit to drown the characters under.


	8. Defiant Souls

Something bit grimmer than the usual.

I don't know if i'll manage write something so bittersweet again…

* * *

As far as my empty eyes can gaze upon, endless dunes of ash stretch out to the four winds. I stalk across this barren landscape in solitude, at a crawling pace. There is nowhere to go, no rush to reach some destination. In every direction, I know there to be naught but ash, and the remnants of that which has long been forgotten. I stride past the imposing sight of what I can only assume to have once been the facade of an impressive, monolithic church, being slowly entombed by the ashen storm which perpetually rages here in the bed of the world and I fail to contain the shudder that ripples through my body as its sheer grandiosity looms menacingly over my puny form. For the briefest of moments I feel tempted to give some thought to such a magnificent structure and its origin, its history, the meaning of the sharp, stinging spires which seem to sprout from every corner and turn imaginable, and of the eight slender towers which stand behind the crumbling front wall, shooting upwards as if they may be trying to pierce their way back to remembrance.

But the impulse quickly fades and I resume my journey with a heavy gait, already leaving the memory of its existence behind me, as I have left behind everything else.

 _No_ , not everything else. Not yet, at least. Forgetfulness is something inevitably inherent to my journey, not to me.

I stride forth towards the nothingness solely because the purpose of my existence is no more; my own selfish duty has finally been fulfilled.

I have won against the tides of destiny; I have beaten the time in its own rigged game.

I have managed to carve myself an unyielding legacy. I ensured that my memory will be preserved, that at least one person will remember me even after I inevitably cease to do so.

 _I am Anri, Knightess of the near-forgotten lands of Astora, Slayer of the bloated Saint of the Deep, Defier of Fates._

I stride alone towards my oblivion because I can do so out of my own free will, because the destiny preordained for me has been shattered. Because the machinations of those who thought of me as their pawn tether me to a fixated path no more.

 _I am Anri of Astora, and my destiny was to die._

The scheme was so carefully, meticulously constructed that even to this moment I fail to grasp its implications, its long-spanning branches as a whole. But I do grasp very clearly that I was naught but a _pawn_ on its massive game-field, although I have been swayed to believe by someone I trust dearly that such an idea is erroneous in nature, and that I should give myself more credit, enough to bump my importance to that of the _queen_.

To this moment, I find this crude attempt of persuasion utterly and completely pointless and nonsensical.

I was meant to play a part of grandeur by being stringed towards a role of faux importance, up until the point where I would meet my end, at the hand of someone once dear to me. Another someone, that is. She was a pilgrim of the mysterious land of _Londor_ , and she was my guide. She was my compass and map, and my guiding light which shone brightly in the murky darkness of _Lothric_ , showing me the way towards my desired, albeit deceptive, goal. To me and to _Horace_.

Oh, _Horace_ …you poor, poor soul…

He was an anchor to my sanity as much as I was one for his own. He was my shield and my blade, and I was his blade and his shield. We both complemented and needed the other, always side by side, living as breathing remainders of our purpose.

To think I would ultimately lose him when so close to fulfilling my dream – _Our_ dream…oh…

I come to a halt in my walk to peer back at the sharp cliffs and mountains of _Lothric_ which I am leaving behind. ' _One last time_ ' I say to myself aloud, completely aware of my solace. ' _Let me remember him…one last time…_ '.

I feel a fresh pain slowly, very slowly spring from my heart and pool through me, spreading across my chest, almost unbearable, searing my insides. Oh, _Horace_ …how sorry I am, you will never know it…

…How much I weep now for not realizing it sooner, how much you meant to me…

…I am so sorry my Knight…I was too late to see it…

He had gone and lost himself without my steading presence to guide him at his side…I did my best to honor him, to give him what I so desired for myself: a legacy. A reflection of what he truly was and not what he became towards the end: A Knight unlike no other. _Horace_ might have gone hollow, but he was still the man I knew regardless.

And he was also the one who had been holding the key to my heart all along.

The scheme in which I played a part in dictated that I was to be infatuated with the Chosen Undead, almost to the point of enthrallment. It astounds me now, how this foreshadowed puppeteering was done so subtly that I paid no mind to its implications for the longest time, contenting myself with believing this attraction to be thoroughly natural, and more so as a fact of existence than a choice.

I still remember when Lady _Yuria_ approached me to whisper in my ear to proposal of the wedding…oh, how happy I was then.

The scheme was flawless to a fault and of that I hold no doubt…however, a single, grave mistake had sullied it like a perpetual stain since its conception: the consistent failure to reliably account for the volatile nature of its central piece, the king. The _Chosen Undead_ systematically declined and turned down my advances, which I relentlessly enforced upon his persona as I my thought was fixated on the words of the dark lady.

I was privy to my task and its nature long before the path of the _Champion_ intertwined with my own within the oppressing _Woods of Crucifixion_. I did not overstep my boundaries on this first encounter, although it shames me a great deal to say I was barely capable of holding my poise in his overbearing presence. To stand before such might…

I miraculously managed to convey my duty to him, going so far as to introduce my silent partner without a stutter to singe my words. Reminiscing now of that moment I find it surprising, how my ignorance had been nailed so deeply into my beliefs that it never crossed my mind to pay attention to the ominous staring of my traveling partner. I am sure to have noticed his gaze set upon the armored figure conversing with us, but its meaning I never imagined…

To think I was so naïve once. So quick to believe wholeheartedly in every dream handed to me.

No, naïve is not the right word to describe me.

I was a _fool_. And _Horace_ knew.

I was so, so very eager to prove to me and to the world that there was still enough of a human in me to feel like a human felt and to dream like a human dreamt. I was blinded so greatly by my innocent wish. I failed to foresee the path I was to walk, to uncover the signs of a deeply-rooted ploy I was trapping myself into.

But _Horace_ knew.

He knew something was aloof with the soothing words of our guide, with the persuasions of Lady _Yuria_. For a man of few sounds, he was incredibly effective at making himself be heard. The looks of disdain, the unsteadiness of his footing near those I trusted with these dreams, his overprotective demeanor…to think I had dismissed his actions as a menial fit of jealousy. They may have originated from such a nature for all I know, but to only believe such a trifling purpose to be their only quality…

I am yet again losing my thread in the tangle of my thoughts, am I not? I shall continue with my tale, as I am bound to forget of it if I do not.

I made my intentions clear to the _Chosen Undead_ by the time we crossed by each other under the roof of the _Firelink Shrine_. I figuratively threw myself in his arms, expecting everything to pan out as it was intended from the beginning. The excitement coursed through my veins at a frenetic pace, and my insides stirred violently as I waited with bated breath for the _Champion_ to reciprocate my answer.

But he did not.

He declined my proposal, and he continued to do so at every chance I took to jump at him, going so far as to plead for his companionship. Each time he countered with a predicament of his own, never using the same excuses twice to dissuade my advances. Until one faithful day, when I voiced my desires in pleading manner for the first time, having thrown myself at his feet. For the first time during one of these encounters the _Champion_ locked his gaze with my own and stared down at me with seriousness write over his visage. There was no smile on his lips being playful and mischievous, no laughter in his throat slamming against my form. There was silence for a moment, and dread, and his eyes and my own, and shortly after his voice spoke, using a dry, neutral tone I had never heard before coming from him. He told he could not be joined with me in wedlock because his heart was not dead-set on my own. He said his heart already belonged to someone else, averting his gaze then to set it towards someone I could not recognize.

For the longest time I understood not his reasoning, and it was this ignorance what drove to voice my concern to lady _Yuria_ , who dismissed his words as another one of menial jests. But I could not escape my wondering…what if the _Champion_ had spoken the truth of his mind? What if my purpose was no more? What was I to do?

I only had to bring my eyes up to meet my traveling partner to remember that my purpose had not yet vanished.

 _I was Anri of Astora, and my duty was to slay the bloated Saint of the Deep._

I was overcome with determination then as I set out towards the keep of _Farron_ , with _Horace_ and my pilgrim guide both in tow. Next to them I traversed the waters of the _Woods_ and the great swamp of _Farron_ , arriving at the dreaded fortress of the _Abyss Watchers_ to discover the _Chosen Undead_ had already made his way through it. We descended into the eerie _Catacombs_ then, with our swords fast at hand and our senses sharpened, at the ready to face anything.

Time whisked away in these sunless depths as we took turn after turn through endless corridors and halls, fighting unceasing hordes of reanimated skeletons and triggering one perilous trap after another. We forged through this labyrinth for great while, devoting every ounce of our strength to actions and not to thoughts. Maybe this was the cause, the root of our problem. Maybe, this was the reason for why I lost him.

I was ensnared by an unforeseen trap which had me be separated from my companions. I blacked out from exhaustion, and when I came to there was no-one in my sight to show me a friendly face. This solitude, however, did not last for long, as I was soon found by my pilgrim friend, who much to my dismay revealed to me that she had become separated from _Horace_ as well. For a moment, panic coursed through my body, but in the face of adversity I decided to will myself to be strong. Not for me but for him. There was no finer Knight than _Horace_. If he still breathed, I was sure he was looking for me, so it was only proper to reciprocate this action for him. This mindset helped me cope with our separation, and allowed my spirits to remain high enough to be able to converse with the _Chose Undead_ once he found me lurking in these twisted _Catacombs_.

I managed to stay my tongue and mind for a moment necessary to inquire him about the disappearance of my companion, to which he responded with a fruitless answer. I said I understood, and so I bid him farewell as I set out to continue my dreaded search. I rummaged long and far in hopes of finding him, through every corridor and pathway I discovered, up and down the great halls and dampened caves.

And yet I did not find him.

It was at this point that I began to question my regards for the man. For him, who stood at my side at every step of my journey. I began to understand my mind during this search, and what a cruel mistress it was. How it kept me fixated to some thoughts more so than others, only allowing me to ponder some questions at the most terrible times.

 _What was Horace to me?_ That I did not know. He was a companion and a friend, and an integral part of my life. _But what else?_ _What was he to me of so much importance that it made me feel unfulfilled by not knowing it? By missing him at my side?_

Such questions would haunt me for what felt like eons, until the _Champion_ approached me in near lowest depths of the _Catacombs_ , claiming with a sad tone that he believed to have seen my Knight trudging through the immense lake below us. Oh, the joy that overcame me on that instant was far too grand to be described with words…I thanked the _Champion_ greatly and gifted him a ring of mine in a show of gratitude, wasting no time in plunging deeper down the caves to finally meet my Knight who was surely still on the prowl for me.

My mind was a cruel mistress, indeed…if only I had paid more attention to the _Chosen Undead_ …

His sad tone, his somber step, his mournful eyes…I ignored them all as I ran blindly to my encounter with _Horace_ , completely fixated in answering the predicaments still trashing within the confines my thought. I descended to our reunion so unprepared to face the tide of sorrow which was to wash over me that I felt for a moment how my will to carry on shattered at the sight of the lone figure aimlessly plodding across the pool of water. I did not need to approach him to know what had become of him, and my reaction was instantaneous. A pain suddenly came to exist in chest, so intense and overwhelming that my body forgot how to feel anything else, how to function properly. I fell to my knees obstreperously, completely deaf to the clattering of my armor plates or the clanging sound of my blade colliding against the stone. My ears were saturated with the roaring of blood, and the unbearable, ceaseless ringing of a loud white noise which drove me to a numb state. From one blink to another my eyes were gazing at a picture of nothingness, and my mind thought of nothing as well. There was a total darkness enveloping me, vast and devoid of any existence, of purpose. I wonder now if that was how it would feel to go hollow, to roam aimlessly through lands of darkness unending without even knowing of oneself.

But this black misery did not last, for a different sound brought me back from this brink of nihility then. I had not even blinked again when I discovered myself to still remain prostrated upon the floor of the cavern, staring straight ahead, at the figure of my dear _Horace_ slowly making his way towards me, halberd in hand.

I raised my own weapon as well, coming to my feet, and I commanded my legs to stride forwards, relinquishing any thought to allow my muscles to guide me. I knew what needed to be done, and to do so I needed not to think, just to act.

What stood victorious in the end was my broken form, towering above the body of he who I once called my dearest friend. I knew it then, on that moment when I allowed my mind to reign my will again, I finally understood what passed as an answer for my question.

I had never thought of it before, but without him…I felt as if a part of my very soul had gone missing, straying from my bosom. It was his presence what brought color to my days, what encouraged me to forge ever onwards, to never give up. He was my warmth to cast away the cold night and my true light in its darkness. He was who, even without a sound, managed to make me smile, to show my humanity, my feelings. He was _Horace the Hushed_ , and he was a part of me as much as I was a part of him.

And I was the one he loved.

And it came as no surprise that he was the one I loved.

But everything was over now.

There would no longer be _Horace_ and _Anri_. Now, only _Anri_ remained.

 _But Anri was not meant to be without her Horace._

 _As Horace was not meant to be without his Anri._

I readied myself to accept my fate; I lowered my body to rest against the corpse of the man I loved as I slowly began to feel my mind drifting away, being devoid of thought, and as the last remnants of my conscience began to scatter, I too began to drift away, falling steadily into a peaceful slumber from which I did not know if I would ever wake up.

…But I did. I woke up in the caverns Gwyn-knows how much later, with my armaments at my side and my pilgrim friend nursing me back to health. She explained to me how she found me at the brink of relinquishing my self to the mad hollowing, and that she brought me back up to reel my conscience to my living being, as I still had a duty to fulfill. I remember feeling empty inside on that moment, purposeless…without the conscience which had been lassoed to my mind for a second time. Almost hollow.

But then the memory came back to me shortly after. The feelings came back to me.

I wept for my Knight in the companionship of the silent pilgrim. I mourned his death for time unknown to me, until I discovered I had ridden myself of any lasting pain, that there were no knots in my stomach. I had wept to such extents that I had driven my sorrow out of me. However the sadness remained constant, centered at the core of both my mind and soul, pulsating every couple of second to remind me of what had happened.

But this time something was different. This time, I could give thought to my sadness. I discovered soon enough that by stripping myself of sorrow I had granted my head a moment of clarity to properly function again, and it was so that an idea, a new duty, revealed itself to me, coated in sadness.

I said nothing as I made my way down again towards the resting site of my companion, finding his body as immobile as I had left it. For a short moment, I felt the stab of pain cutting through my chest again, but it quickly subsided in favor of granting me a will, to do once again what needed to be done.

 _Anri was not meant to be without her Horace, and Horace was not meant to be without his Anri_. If one shared a dream, the other shared it too. If one shared a duty, the other shared it too.

What I gave the man was the fulfillment of my duty that he too strived to see done. I built a crude grave for him, out of stones and what I carried in my person, over which I carefully deposited his trusted weapon and his unflinching shield, and a luminescent prism stone, in memory of the many times we had used them to find our way back to each other.

I gave him a legacy, a testament to a proper Knight felled in battle.

His body I buried underneath his grave, digging the hole with my very own shield, mangling it into uselessness. I stayed at his side for a moment unending, unmoving, with my eyes closed and my frame weakly draped against the lower stone. I stayed until I felt the sorrow which had crawled back to my chest leave through the ground and only then I got up, finding a sense of duty crackling warmly in my chest. I trekked my way back up to my guide and we set journey to the illusive city of _Irithyll_ , traversing the chamber of the terrible _High Lord_ , and then the impressive bridge which preceded our destination. I carved my way through countless hollows that lunged at my flesh without hesitation, through Knights brandishing swords of dark magics and through mad witches of fire. Then, at last, we reached a bonfire of safety underneath the roof of a high tower which had once been a church, and for the first time since I left the side of my Knight I allowed myself to be at ease, embraced by the comforting warmth.

I must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing I saw was the usual sight of the _Champion of Ash_ , calmly resting his form nearer to the fire. I took my chance to speak to him then, to offer my thanks for a last time and to…lie about the fruition of my endeavor. The _Unkindled Champion_ had a duty of his own to see fulfilled. It was not my right to burden him with the tale of a sad Knightess. Though I did take the moment to subtly inform him I would pester him no more with the proposal of marriage, for I had more pressing matters to attend to.

Once again, I spoke not of the root of this decision, because I believed it to be besides the point.

My mind, however, reflected upon this secret anyways. And it was simple.

 _Anri was not meant to be without her Horace, and Horace was not meant to be without his Anri._

The Champion was immensely grateful for this – so much in fact that he seemed to unwind right then, gesturing me to sit at his side, to share tales of my lands with him. We spoke a great length within that church, of everything and nothing at once. I told him of the wonders of Astora, and he told me of the wonders of his travels, and of his inner turmoils.

Should he link the fire? Let it die? What would become of everything dear to him? What would become of him? Allow me to say I did not judge his divergent thoughts, as it was not my call to sway his choice.

That day I discovered something I had remained oblivious to for far too long. The _Champion of Ash_ was as much of a man as the rest of us. Unkindled and with purpose, but no-less burdened by the weight of his actions and decisions. He display a wide, very wide range of emotions; happiness, comfort, fulfillment, sadness, sorrow, fear. The _Ashen One_ was not a mythical, godly figure who strode above us, the simple undead. He was one of us, and the realization about his nature was the last nail in the coffin to seal my naïve enthrallment and infatuation to him.

I thank now the _Lord Gwyn_ that I decided to stay in his company for so long, because it was his intervention in my fate what broke the strings attached to me, and set my mind free to produce thought after thought derived from my own unshackled will.

It saddens me to say that in all honesty, the _Champion_ is the only creature truly capable of defying preordained fates. But who struck the final blow to break the chain was _me_ and not him. He was the beginning, and I was the end.

Oddly, it felt befitting.

He saw the shadows shifting behind my form when I could not, and he lifted his shield in time to block the lunging attack coming from the hidden figure. I turned in an instant, only to find before me none other my only remaining friend, my guide, looking straight at me with her weapons drawn to maim. For an instant, I remained hesitant, and the pilgrim took that moment to aim a second attack at my body, which the _Champion_ deftly blocked once again, bragging about how he had been expecting her to show up sooner or later to ensure everything would still go according to plan.

I did not understand his words, but I was not stupid enough or clouded by naivety now to miss their implications, and to flimsily connect the events following up to this moment to reveal something I had missed, and that _Horace_ did not.

I began to see a bigger picture, a scheme if you so wish to call it, which at that moment I could not encompass with clarity to give it any rhyme or reason, but that I perceived dimly enough to know I had been playing a part handcrafted for me all along.

And so my rage boiled.

I made short work of my assailant, and this time I wasted no time in leaving a legacy for her. The _Champion_ approached me as we both sheathed our swords, asking for my forgiveness, for not speaking of the ploys of Lady _Yuria_ until that decisive moment.

Thankful for his aid, I granted him the pardon he wished for, and he set out to explain to me the bits of this grand scheme he managed to collect. _The Saber Church of Londor_ wanted to crown him as the _Lord of Hollows_ , with me as his queenly spouse. Together we deciphered the nature of my part and how I was nothing more than a pawn to persuade him to follow through with the cruel masterplan. That every action taken by me up until this moment had been decided by others beforehand.

And that I had followed each command like an idiotic, loyal lapdog.

I stayed my tongue from lashing out then, forcing myself to ask the _Champion_ , in the gentlest manner I could muster, to carry on with his journey on his own, that I would call for his aid if and when the need should arise. He stared into my eyes for a brief instant, but he got up and left without another word, just a knowing nod.

In my solace I breathed, in a poor attempt to quell the seething rage burning all throughout my insides. I clenched and unclenched my grip around the pommel of my blade, and I started intensely at the dead body of she who was meant to take my life. I stayed prostrated as so for much longer than I had first envisioned I would, unable to command my body to carry on on its own. I was left to fend against my personal undermining emotions, and it would take me a considerable time to come to terms with the new aspects surfacing to adhere to my duty.

When I finally got up, I strode away from the warm bonfire with more than a single goal in my mind.

I stormed towards the chapel of the _Pontiff_ only to find him dead already, and then I stormed upwards and into the sacred stairs of _Anor Londo_ to find the _Unkindled Champion_ waiting for me behind a monolithic gate at the top, smirking knowingly.

He was there to aid me one more time. I could not help but smile.

We strode in an almost complete silence through the deserted main of ship of the monumental edifice, with only our steps echoing against the walls and the heavy clattering and rattling of our armors as the sounds that accompanied us. The _Champion_ had taken his time to banish every monster in the vicinity waiting for my arrival, never once trying to cross past the gate of fog looming in the distance. At that moment I gave no thought to his actions, far too overwhelmed by other emotions to think critically, but now I believe I understand his methods. He knew of my tale, he knew of the destiny written for me, and he knew of my struggle, because his own was quite similar to mine. We both strode to carve a legacy, I for myself, and he for the world. The scope of our tasks might have differed but their nature was akin. It was fitting we should aid each other.

I felt a surge or elation and anxiousness spread through me as we ascended the short flight of stairs leading up to the pristine white gate before as. Everything I had done had leaded me to this moment, every victory, every defeat and every sacrifice. The children, the pilgrim, even _Horace_ …my destiny that was not my own, these few moments of freedom.

Everything had shaped me to carry on my duty.

And thus we traversed the fog to meet our fate.

…What has become of me now I fear the _Champion_ will never know – only guess. Where he stayed to celebrate I returned hurriedly to the _Shrine_ , set to fulfill that last culminating task bound to my duty before he would arrive, for I did not wish for him to see me in this sorry state I had fallen into even before I made my way to my inevitable encounter with the _Black Lady of Londor_. Truth be told, I do not know how I managed to sustain myself sane enough to see my dreams come through after the departure of my dear _Horace_. I like to think only my will and my sense of duty were the walls which managed the impossible task of containing my consciousness until I attained my victory over the bloated _Saint of the Deep_ , but after that…I knew without a doubt that my conscience had already started to ebb away.

I wasted no time in preambles. Her enchanted sword gleamed with a purple light confronted with my own, entrancing me for a moment, but the bright orange spark of metal hitting on metal was enough to keep me focused throughout the duel.

This time, without aid from the _Champion of Ash_ , it was me who carried out to re-write my destiny.

One last time.

I allowed myself a moment to deflate as the figure of my opponent slumped to the ground unceremoniously. I allowed my body to take in the feeling of fulfillment, to enjoy it for a moment, to relish in it, to treasure it. But the moment passed quickly and in a bittersweet manner. Because as much as this meant my victory, this also meant the ending to my journey, which was something I had not come to terms with until a very short time ago.

But now I was ready.

I left my sword to the Lord of Cinder, _Ludeth the Exile_ as a parting gift and I bid farewell to the inhabitants of the shrine, dodging out of the compound and walking forwards to never look back, to never have to see the face of the _Champion_ again. Because he would have asked me stay. And because I know I would have. Because I knew he was more to me than a mere acquaintance. He had saved my life and changed my destiny, and he had stayed behind to be my shield at the highest moment of my adventure.

He was more than a battle-brother but less than an infatuate.

But he was not _Horace_.

 _And I could not be Anri without my Horace._

 _As he could not be Horace without his Anri._

I blink away the memories to find again the sight of the cliffs and mountains of _Lothric_ coming into my view; far, far behind in the lands I am leaving forever. I stay my eyes for a single, eternal instant at the sight, almost as if I am about to turn back and embrace the people who accepted me, but I quickly resume my stride towards my oblivion, knowing within my diminishing heart that they are better off without me, and that I am better off without them.

I stride for a time unending until I forget the meaning of my walk, and I forget the ash that surrounds me, and I forget the memories I have left behind.

But as I slowly begin to accept the darkness, I force my mind to usher a thought for one last time, to remind myself of who I am, for one last time.

 _I am Anri of Astora, knightess of sword and shield, infatuate of Horace the Hushed, trustee of the Champion of Ash, slayer of the Bloated Saint of the Deep, Defier of fates, toppler of the Saber Church. This is my legacy._

So it shall be.

So it shall ever be.

And so I close my eyes, and I let myself be embraced by the soothing nothingness _…_

* * *

…WELL NOT WITH THAT ATTITUDE MOTHERFUCKER!

In this chapter I tried to stray from the approach I took in earlier chapters regarding the nature of the setting and the characters portrayed to be living within it. I tried to embrace the philosophy of Dark Souls as a whole, that ultimately, everything ever done is bound to be forgotten. That no matter how good an ending something might have, in the end it won't matter, because nobody will remember it. The tale of Anri is a sad one even without embellishment from my part. It felt befitting to tell it as it was, to let everyone know that a happy ending was not the ultimate goal.

tl;dr this was purposely grimdark.


	9. Depraved Souls

I believe the title says it all.

* * *

For a sight-impaired woman her gaze was remarkably scorching.

She was ten feet away from me and she was blind. _And yet_ , her staring was already making my legs feel like twigs.

She didn't say anything, didn't move. She stared at me for the whole two hours it took me to clean the ash-ridden bonfire of our Shrine, task given to me by our resident Firekeeper.

For an instant, the glint of a smile flashed across her lips when I took three long strides in her direction and I yanked her by her wrist to follow along to the outside of the Shrine, hard enough to pull her arm slightly out of her socket. She did not complain. There wasn't any flirting, any sort of ceremony; I pressed her against the front wall as soon as we were out of sight and my hungry lips found hers in less time than it took me to think up the motion. She went ahead and wrapped her thin arms around my robed frame, but I wouldn't notice that until later. My senses were fixated on the single, life-dependent task of satiating my want with her. She'd been teasing at me for _two hours_ – my undergarments were drenched beyond redemption, and my heart was threatening to beat right out of my chest.

What _had_ to happen now was me, her and whatever god-forsaken surface I would lay her over to have my way with her.

If I had to give my kisses a proper adjective it wouldn't have been hungry. My kisses were ravenous. Sloppy, forceful and drawn out, without a thought to guide them and to add a depth to them; by the time she got us to break apart her lips were very swollen, and the corners of her mouth had reddened considerably, although not as much as her cheeks. Our separation lasted for a few seconds at best, during which she tried to stammer something which she unfortunately couldn't quite finish.

A quick glance to her lower regions showed me she was just as excited as I was, if not more.

No, definitely not more.

But I was _not_ going to go easy on her. Not after what she did.

My mouth crashed against hers again and I used my advantage of being the dominant one to get a hold of her arms, pinning them over her head. We continued kissing like that, smolderingly, and through several agonizing minutes I denied her – and quite honestly myself, as well – the precious touch she longed for. She'd been shuffling on her spot a bit when we started kissing. Now, she was practically flailing haphazardly.

And words fail me to describe how _arousing_ I found her squirming.

At last, I broke away from the kiss to stare at her face, at her red cheeks and even redder lips. And again she tried to form a sort of sentence with her mouth, which was betrayed by her mind for a second time. I decided to help her, if just a little bit. I believed I had a general idea of what she was trying to say anyways.

" _Tower?_ " I told her in a breathy, quivering voice which didn't come out as a sigh because I could still hold my composure. Somewhat, at least.

Her lips flattened in a line as she closed her mouth and nodded eagerly, drawing her blind eyes to meet with mine as if she knew where they were. I wouldn't have been surprised if she did; she gave me a look that was _meant_ to be seen, of pure, unbridled want.

I needed a minute for my throat to start working again, and when I finally got in motion I pulled her so hard that we both went tumbling to the dirt, sucking in sharp, anxious breaths. I didn't even feel the pain.

Tower it was, then.

* * *

" _Tread carefully now, Ringfinger, else you want to lose the bearer of your title…_ " she whispered teasingly against the lips of the hairless man as his hand darted down across her midriff and towards her navel, feeling adventurous. Her words elicited a dark chuckle to break through his mouth which sent a vibration rippling through his chest to hers, spreading a sense of warmth in her that was followed by a surge of pleasure from his digits coming to rest in between her thighs, brushing lightly over her folds.

She gasped at the suddenness of the sensation and the man seized her parted lips with his own, shoving himself into her in a forceful kiss which lasted for a moment before he retreated back to stare at her, a string of saliva uniting them, leaving her flushed and out of breath. She drew in a ragged breath, edging upwards with her face as to try and steal another needy kiss from him. The action was involuntary and unbecoming but she couldn't have cared less on that moment. But that lasted until she drew her eyes to his and she remembered who she was.

When she stared back into his grey eyes little more than a primal need could be seen dancing behind her gaze. She was a Knightess of the Sunless Realms and she would _not_ be bound to the whims of any. She became a blur of motion as her arms darted for his neck and she reeled him close to kiss again, flipping their positions in the process the end up on top. Her kisses were needy forceful and dominant, and she nibbled roughly at his lower lip, leaving it swollen and worn. He must have liked what she was doing because he didn't move a muscle to stop her. Her hands danced across his exposed chest, tracing the outlines of his muscles and dipping down to caress his pressing bulge every few seconds, prying darker sounds out of the man with every light touch. His own hands did not remain unoccupied; one working slow, lazy circles over her sex and the other plunging to her bottom to squeeze it roughly. The kiss was stopped momentarily at his action as she drew apart to let out a lustful moan, breathing hot, steamy air into his mouth, cheeks and nose.

Another dark chuckle rippled throughout the man's throat then, culminating in a sly grin. " _I believe you should heed your own words, Knightess…a man can only restrain himself for so long…_ " he spoke at her with his deep voice as he repeated his motions again, making her squirm in delight. Moan after moan escaped through her mouth and her own roaming and teasing ceased completely. The Knightess tried to fight back the pleasure in her mind, to regain control of her situation, of her composure. But deep down she knew her efforts were futile, that the duel of dominance had been decided from the moment she had cornered him within the chamber and he had held her gaze with enough intensity to get her wet on the spot.

And the worst thing of all was that deeper still in her conscience she knew she wanted this to happen.

She wanted him to dominate her, to make her squirm, to touch her so tantalizingly little and so overwhelmingly much that she'd lose herself enough to beg for his caress. She had pleasured herself many a-times imagining this, knowing full well of the wrongness of her desires. Their paths were opposites and their beliefs clashed; much was wrong with her desires.

But she couldn't win a fight against her own conscience.

The tightening of her lower regions brought her back to reality, as a heat started to spread rapidly across her entire being, growing impossibly hot. Her legs flailed wildly and her hips buckled against his deft fingers. She discovered he had set her back against the floor and was now on top again but she didn't make time to give some thought to the action because in a fraction of an instant her whole body exploded with pleasure. She cried out a raspy sound which almost sounded like his name and her thighs clamped shut around his arm. Her hands darted for his body and she dug her nails into his back, and her eyes rolled up towards the back of her head. Her mouth stood agape as he forced her orgasm to carry out for a moment longer, unable to let in air as if she had forgotten how to breathe.

She collapsed on top of the floor in a haze of bliss where she finally breathed deep, looking at a hazy point in the distance. From the corner of her eye she could see him getting up and walking away, but she didn't bring herself to stop him.

She decided to just lay there for a little while longer. After all, it was clear he'd be waiting for her to come to him again.

* * *

Greirat realized he'd gotten too trustful of his surroundings when he didn't even feel the pair of hands sliding up to his waist. He didn't even hear the man sneaking his way behind him, didn't even _feel_ his presence edging closer. His thieving senses had dulled in his uneventful stay at the Shrine. Maybe he should do something about tha–

" _Why, hello there my old friend…did you miss me much?_ " his assailant said against the ear of the thief, prying him to draw in a quick breath when a nimble hand added the sensation of running across his chest. His cheeks were most definitely flushed at this point but he dared not acknowledge that. If thieving skills he lacked, at least some honor he still would retain.

" _P-Patches…wh-what are you do-doing here?_ " Greirat stammered out, forcing himself to stay his gaze up front. He did not know how things would transpire if he were to look at the man in the eye, who then cackled playfully before he replied.

One of his hands darted down and came to rest teasingly at his navel, just above his manhood, while the other rose to his face and cupped his jaw, stroking his smooth skin with a calloused thumb. Greirat did not breathe until the man spoke back to him again. " _Well, you see my friend; I've a debt tied to you…_ " He began, continuing to stroke the thief's jaw. "… _I'd be lying dead in a moldy dungeon if it wasn't for you…_ " Greirat felt his heartrate quicken as the fingers on his navel slowly closed in on his sex. His breathing quickly became heavy with expectancy and anxiousness.

"… _I intend to repay you in kind …_ " was the last thing he said before he finally made contact with the squirming man's bulge and squeezed, eliciting a weak moan to break through the thief's lips. Unbeknownst to him, his assailant grinned at this.

In a nimble motion he got his hand inside the other man's underpants and started caressing his growing erection tenderly, wrapping two fingers around its girth once it stood firm enough in his grip. His assailant stroke then his member, up and down and slowly, taking his time in spite of his victim's squirming. Greirat heaved and moaned in the care of the man, clutching a handful of his vest with his own hand in an attempt to ground his spinning thoughts. His other hand involuntarily went to rest on top of the one posed on his face, joining it in its motions.

This went on for minutes and by the time his assailant pried his hand away from his lower parts, his manhood was already fully erect and throbbing with pure pleasure. Greirat was left stunned for a moment trying to gather himself after coming back from the lustful haze he was in, and it was so that he didn't notice it instantly that his assailant was no longer at his back but in front of him, a moment away of catching the petty thief by surprise. When his shaft was suddenly enveloped by a welcoming heat, his knees buckled and his lugs stopped working for a moment.

When he looked down he saw the head of the man as it bobbed back and forth on his lenght, his manhood disappearing into his damp mouth. His assailant sucked on his member with a seemingly practiced technique, employing his tongue to rub along the underside of its head in just the right way that it made the other man let out one shameful moan after another.

Greirats' hands went to his assailant's scalp, coming to rest just above his nape. He felt them tugging the man closer to take him deeper, and it was the new wave of pleasure that breaking into his throat brought him what finally tipped him over.

He only had time to part his lips before his whole body tensed as he came, manhood halfway burrowed inside the welcoming mouth which worked in tandem with his throbbing to swallow his coming seed. Greirat buckled slightly against the other man for a short moment and then he collapsed, disoriented and spent. He let out the breath he was holding then and he closed his eyes as he breathed deep, completely awash with relief, not even hearing the snide cackling of the man as he got up from his knees.

" _That's a debt repaid for ya, you scoundrel…hope you get to save me again sometime, wouldn't mid repaying you a time or two more…_ " Patches said as he wiped his grinning mouth and he strode away, whistling contently, leaving the half-naked man behind.

* * *

The Dark Witch breathed deep, and although she did not believe in the false gods, she helplessly prayed to Gwyn and his Kin that the Ashen One wouldn't take notice of the redness which had taken residence in her cheeks, or her shuffling, or what was clearly happening. Her fingers drummed over the wooden table at a staggering pace, and her chest was tight with nerves and anxiety. He was talking about something, and he seemed quite pleased about his words, but Karla couldn't retain a single thing he had said except for anything immediate. She was about to reply to him when a flare of emotion made her throat lock up, a moment before a primitive urge rose from her very depths.

The Dark Witch successfully stifled a moan that threatened to break through her lips, as she devoted every single miniscule ounce of her mind she could still command to heeding the surely eloquent words of the Ashen One, who had taken her saying of becoming attached to him quite seriously and had started visiting her more often. Usually, everything would be alright with that; they'd chat and laugh and she'd give him her best sultry look and he would leave with a hard-on looking for the Firekeeper to satiate his urges.

But today his timing had been terrible.

Because he had caught her with her _other_ apprentice.

Admittedly, Lady Yuria had not truly sought her to lean dark sorceries – of those she knew much already. Sure, she had first approached the Dark Witch with a dark tome in hand and a question on her lips, but as their lessons went on Karla soon discovered that her true motives behind her need of tutelage were quite a bit more…personal. But not unwelcome. Between imprisonment and the aiding of the Champion…well, it had been some time. So she welcomed her advances, and they soon became student and teacher pair of a different school.

She didn't want to say they were being reckless in their endeavors, but…here they were. Because as the Champion delighted her ears with pleasant words, her other apprentice delighted her netherlips with the deftness of her tongue.

She was brought back from her wondering when the Dark Lady flicked her tongue on top of her clit and the pleasure jolt that resulted drove her to let out an undignified squeal in front of the man, whose expression slowly started to show concern as he asked her about her well-being. Karla nodded weakly, throwing him a look of her own that in no way screamed ' _I'm fine_ ', but that he decided to buy nonetheless. She tried her best to start up the conversation again, diverting his attention as her right hand slid down her body and came to rest atop of Yuria's bald head. To know of her hairlessness – that had been quite the shocker. Keyword being ' _had_ '. She pulled the woman away from her wet sex and she threw her a quick glare, which was countered by the smuggest of grins Karla had ever seen in her life. The Dark Witch, however, was not able to glare at her harder, because she had to lend herself to hear the new tale the Ashen One had started to tell, about one adventure of his.

And Yuria, momentarily free from her vice grip, smiled for herself under the table as her mouth came over the center of the older woman once again, and her tongue shot out from between her lips to trace a lick from her slick entrance to her engorged clit, causing the legs of the Dark Witch to buckle slightly, and her breathing to falter for a moment.

So Karla paid attention to him as best as she could, and her apprentice paid attention to her as best as she could, for the several minutes it took the Champion to finish his tale. The Dark Lady soon began to hear her breathing again and how heavy and hurried it had gotten, and she started to feel more movements in the legs of her teacher, as they rubbed and pressed against her form. Her tonguing suddenly got quicker and less nimble, but at this point skill of the art mattered not, because it wasn't many a-moments after when the Dark Witch reached her climax, trapping the head of her apprentice in between her thighs.

Karla buckled and twitched, clutching to the table for dear life. Her eyes rolled back and she let out a _very_ undignified moan, which was the last piece the Champion of Ash needed to piece the situation together. The Dark Witch couldn't appreciate his realization in its full glory, but Yuria later assured her that the sight of his cheeks flourishing with color and his codpiece straining against his bulge had best one of if not the single most hilarious thing she had ever seen in her whole life.

* * *

 _In the grim darkness of the Dark Souls universe there is only war. And sex, copious amounts of sex._


	10. Devoid Souls

" _She…left, my Champion, not too long ago...I'm afraid she did not wish for you to see her in the state she was…_ " Ludeth told me in a grim tone, breaking at last the silence which had settled over the Shrine as everyone had gather to listen to the revelation.

For a moment, I felt my head spinning, enough to drive me to place my hand on the armrest of the throne in which the Lord sat, to steady myself.

She was gone.

Anri was gone.

The realization hadn't hit me in its entirely when Ludeth continued. " _She has entrusted me with a parting gift. It is meant for you to hold_ " he said solemnly as he produced an object from his side, making me draw in a sharp breath.

It was her sword.

She had left me her sword.

Everything clicked into place then. She had been left with no purpose, and thus no reason to remain amongst us.

In silence, I cried, clutching the blade in my hands, smearing its flat with my tears. I had stepped outside to contemplate my grief, sitting at the edge of the monolithic cliff caving towards the plains of ash.

For a moment, I contemplated caving in as well. But the feeling soon passed. I was the _Ashen One_ , _Champion of Cinders_.

I was the beginning and the end of things, and I would remain shaken no more.

Drawing in a breath I got up, forging my way to one of the many unmarked graves where I put my gifted tool to use by carving the name of its original owner before I drove it into the dirt beneath the slab of stone. There I left it, and then I turned back to the Shrine, ignoring the gazes as they followed me across.

Because I would endure.

* * *

I gave her eyes. I gave her comfort. I gave her pleasure. I gave her a purpose.

And yet she didn't give me love.

My heart ached, but I allowed it not to harm me, as I stared at her from around the corner. As she saw her lover. As she comforted her. As she gave her pleasure. As she reaped the spoils of the purpose I had given her and as she gave her the love I longed for.

I knew their history together ran deep, but I still believed myself to have a chance to compete. I did not. I never did. What we shared had been born in the heat of the moment; what _they_ shared was etched in stone.

With a heavy heart I turned and walked away, putting a straight face as if nothing had happened, as if everything continued to be the same. But it was not, at least not for me. But it mattered not, because I was the Ashen One, and I would endure.

I left her behind in the cares of the Nun as I strode out to quell my emotions. A slaying spree, that would do it.

An activity which was rapidly becoming a habit.

* * *

The body laid in state, still trapped within his onion-like armor.

Yhorm had fallen by our hand, and together we had celebrated the progression of my quest and the fulfillment of his promise, sharing a toast before the priestess of Lothric summoned me to breach the Castle.

Without a chance to say my goodbyes to the man who had decided to take a nap, I strode back to see if he still lingered in the _Profaned Capital_ , perhaps mourning his dead friend, or scavenging the many piles of riches.

I found him. He remained in the chamber of the Lord, unmoving, unbreathing, unliving. Much like Anri, without a purpose to carry on, Siegward of Catarina had ceased to be.

I stood there, unmoving as well, staring at the sitting body draped against the wall, legs crossed and head hung low, as if he were sleeping. But he wasn't sleeping, not anymore.

After a moment, I closed my eyes and breathed deep. My fists clenched, nails biting into my palms, but that pain I could barely feel. I stood motionless as I let the sorrow wash over me, enduring until I felt the tide no more, and I edged closer to the man to write a crude message at his side, something to uphold his legacy.

' _Here lies a great man_ '

I strode away, taking slow, steading steps towards the bonfire, feeling nothing and repeating words I'd been telling myself for too long.

I was the Ashen One, and I would endure.

* * *

" _You are a dragon, more dragon than I…_ " And with those final words the Knight Hawkwood met his end. He had drawn his sword on me and he had swung first…but the man did not deserve to die. Crestfallen as he was, his only goal in this wretched world was to find a purpose – and he had, only for me to come and twist it into something awful, albeit unwittingly so.

Fazed by very little at this point, my mouth remained a serious line as I turned around and I strode slowly to get back to the Shrine, carrying with me the only thing the Knight had sought.

I may have been a dragon, but deep inside I felt as nothing more than a puny lizard.

But even the weakest of lizards could endure, and so I did.

* * *

" _Allow me to stay here_ " he said as we passed through the gate opening up to the Grand Archives. " _Don't worry your mind for this petty thief. He can take care of himself, I assure you_ ". Greirat was many things, but a master thief he was not. He barely escaped from the dungeons of Irithyll, and that had only been possible thanks to an intervention from Siegward's part, which in turn went around the whole way to reach me, and my own machinations.

This was the line of thought that lead me to refuse him the first time he pleaded to go scavenge the _Lothric Castle_ alone.

So he followed me instead.

Admittedly, he hadn't been much of a nuisance – the man could fend for himself even against the remarkable Knights of Lothric. I suppose _some_ of his claims were real after all. We traversed through the Castle halls together, working side by side, and I had called for his aid to fell the resilient living Armor guarding the bridge after I found myself unable to best the fiend on my own.

And now we were standing before the majestic sight that was the Grand Archives, and he was asking me, albeit not in a questioning manner, if he could stay here to scour some hidden treasures. Instead of a flat out ' _no_ ', this time I did, in fact, weight out my choices.

He _had_ been helpful and could defend himself, and he had proven at some occasions that he still retained some of his thieving prowess. I pondered over this predicament for some moments, ignoring the shuffling man waiting quite impatiently at my side. In the end, I agreed to allow his separation, and he went ahead to do his biddings on his own right away, scurrying towards a pile of ancient tomes.

I remained unmoving for a short while, but soon enough my lips broke into a grin which produced a sigh as I turned my way to head for the nearest flight of stairs up, feeling more upbeat than usual.

[…]

" _I found him, Greirat_ " Patches said to me dryly as he sat by my side, dropping down heavily like a corpse. I did not see his face fully, but I did spy his expression of sadness from the corner of my eye. He waited a moment before he finished his sentence, voice quivering. " _They had gotten to him already_ ".

I did not make a move to acknowledge his words, but that didn't mean I hadn't heard him, although I wished I didn't. Truth is, I didn't know if I could muster any sort of reaction, not anymore.

Not after Orbeck.

His corpse was still laid on that wooden chair a few paces away. I couldn't bring myself to move him. I questioned again, in this nigh-hollow state I found myself in, why I decided to aid the man in his pursuit of knowledge, or why did I allow the thief to roam free in this treacherous place. I questioned myself and I allowed the pain of regret to bite into my flesh, to sear my heart. I allowed it because I deserved it.

It was then when I felt a hand on my shoulder, shaking me away from my self-flagellation. I turned my eyes to stare at the hairless man, and it was the sight of tears streaking across his cheeks what finally broke me, and what willed my own tears to fall untethered.

My hand went to his own and squeezed as we both sobbed helplessly in our solitude, shuddering together, writhing in pain, knowing full well that I would endure no more.

* * *

At last, the doors to my chambers open, and the shaded figure of an interloper already manifests itself in far reaches of my vision. Lorian, despite his blindness, peers up at me, presenting a question which I answer with a nod that he can't see but that he acknowledges anyways. He's known me for enough time to know my cues better than I do.

Our most resent contender has started making his way across the hall leading to our grand room, and the sound of his armor clattering reaches now my ears, like many bells ringing together. It sends a jolt of excitement running through my cold heart, which wills my breathing to quicken. After a moment, the armed figure steps into the chamber, and my eyes bulge out at the realization of who has come to us.

To spar against the Champion of Ash himself is not a quarrel I believed would take place this day.

His gaping soul is mighty, and his hands look deft in the art of snuffing ash. I can feel on his insides the swirling remnants of my peers, already consumed by this ravaging man. The Watchers, Aldrich, even Yhorm…the Unkindled One has slaughtered them all, and now he has come for me, and my beloved brother.

If he strides to win then I shall present a fight to match him in might.

But first, a word. Not a fight to be remembered has started with anything asides words. " _Oh, dear, another dogged contender. Welcome, Unkindled One, purloiner of Cinders. Mind you, the mantle of Lord interests me none. The fire linking curse, the legacy of lords, let it all fade into no–_ " But I cannot finish my words, for I am interrupted by a loud, clanging sound erupting from the left side of the chamber. I turn instantly to stare at the Unkindled One, and what I manage to see colors me surprised; he has hurled away his shield.

I instantly interpret his action as a challenge, my hand already in motion to command my brother, but just an instant before I can see to his demise I am interrupted by his own resonant voice calling back to me.

" _I have not come here to fight, Prince_ " He says flatly and for the briefest of instants I am inclined to believe him, but that feeling soon passes, and I finish my motion to order Lorian to near our interloper.

I continue with my speech then. "… _Let it all fade into nothing, Unkindled One_ " I proceed to rise to my feet to stare down at the man, as Lorian crawls his way from the shadows to his encounter. " _You've done quite enough, now have your rest…_ " I finish, just as my brother heaves his impossibly heavy sword and lounges at the Champion.

The man dodges away, and what he does next defies everything I have foreseen as an outcome to our grand fight. The Unkindled One unsheathes his weapon of choice before my eyes, only to hurl it away, having it smack sharply against the side wall.

This makes me hesitate, and Lorian falters as well, enough to allow our contender a moment to speak his mind again. " _Prince of Lothric, I seek no quarrel. Allow me a mere word, if you would_ " he says as he stares straight at me through the visor of his helm, the intensity and seriousness of his voice never wavering, not even for an instant. A silence settles then in the chamber, tense and expectant, and we all let it stretch for far longer than it should have as none of us dare to move a muscle, caught in a stalemate.

As this unfolds, I ponder in my mind. Should I oblige to his request? Or should I crush him like I should? The decision eludes me in the corners of my thoughts until I finally manage to get a hold of it and I open my mouth to speak.

" _Fine then, Great Usurper. Speak your meaningless words as you wish, but know that there is little you could say to make us stay our hand_ " I tell him as I settle down in my podium, and as Lorian lowers his greatsword in a sign of compliance. Again the Ashen One meets his gaze with mine, and I manage to perceive the nigh-invisible nod he gives me before he follows to do his bidding.

" _Believe me, Prince, I know that. But hear me for a moment now, and allow me to explain_ " He makes a short pause before he continues which I believe to be for his throat to work. He is nervous.

Curious.

So he speaks, with a somber tone dancing over his words. " _Good Prince…I cannot go on with this, not anymore_ " He stops for a moment to meet my eyes directly, for a third time. Of his gaze I can see little, but what a find is as _intense_ as he presents himself. " _I have come here asking for a word because I have not come to fight. Because, to quote you, Prince, 'the mantle of Lord interests me none'. No more_ "

For a heartbeat, not even the flies dare to bat their wings.

Silence returns to dominate the moment, more dreadful than ever, spreading like a wildfire to me, my brother and to our contender. I cannot hear my thoughts, let alone my body. In my mind only a deafening white nose is ringing, born from my refusal to comprehend the words of the Unkindled One. So I remain motionless, unable even to utter the most breathless of words. A minute has to go by before speech returns to me, and what comes out of my mouth does not stand out as my proudest of wordplays. " _Is that so?_ " I manage to say without stuttering, even though my insides feel like the weakness of men itself.

The Unkindled One nods at this. " _It is, Prince. I will not link the fire_ " He says and my reaction almost takes me by surprise. For a moment, I believe to feel my heart beating once again. I manage to collect myself before releasing another one of the questions that gnaws at my mind.

" _And what has led you to this…decision, Ashen One? Though I must warn you, do not mistake my curiosity for mercy. You will die by our hands, purposeless or not_ " I say although I barely believe my words. I am far too overcome with a feeling I can't place to order his demise in cold-blood.

Perhaps…is this _joy_ what I feel spreading across my chest? No, impossible. I am unable to feel joy…or am I?

As I debate with myself, the Champion of Ash speaks again, getting my attention when he raises his hands to his helm and he takes the metallic piece off, revealing to me the weather-worn face of a young man far too burdened by predicaments he should not be shouldering. His eyes are reddened and swollen, surrounded by dark halos born of tiredness, and his skin shimmers palely in the sunset light. His visage looks famished, all skin and bones, and his forehead is streaked by deep, long swaths of concern. In his unhidden gaze I can see nestled a deep sorrow, which shows me now what his voice is reflecting. " _When I was abandoned by those who I trusted I endured. When my love was not requited I endured. When I learned of the death of those I cherished I endured. When I had to force my hand to kill unwillingly I endured. But when I sent my very friends to their deaths…I cannot endure anymore, Prince. There's little to me worth saving about this world now, and I never cared to save us all for the future to still stand another day_ " He makes a pause to look at me again, as his gaze had dropped to the floor, much like the volume of his voice. His eyes show determination, they show _truth_.

The Ashen One will not link the First Flame.

What I feel is not joy, nor happiness. It is not relief and it is not elation. Contentment, bliss, felicity – none of such I feel then. What I feel towards the man standing before me is nothing but a shameful sympathy. What stands before me and my brother is a broken man. A man who learned not of the unforgiving nature of these unforgiving lands until it was too late. A man who despite suffering instants compared to my lifetime of torment has been struck with pain I've yet to feel.

I step down from my podium as he remains rooted in his place, my lanky, weak form contrasting against his bruising figure. Behind me, I can feel the eyeless gaze of Lorian following my movements, already in knowledge of my change of heart. I raise a trembling hand to the shoulder of the man who twitches at my touch. I peer at his face, seeing his expression, how his eyes are closed, his brows furrowed, his lips straightened and strained. His expressing is one of pain which I can relate to.

Against all impossible odds, a pressure builds up in my chest which I recognize as a pain I can't feel anymore but that I remember well enough to know its horrendous caress.

" _Unkindled One, your words ring true. Your demise is not meant to be at my hands, as I am not the one to judge a soul in pain_ " I say to him quietly, prying his gaze to meet my own for a last time.

Oh, the poor thing.

" _Allow me to reiterate my words. You've done quite enough, now have your rest…_ " I continue, using a different tone to show my lack of desire to kill him. " _…you have not come here seeking a fight and thus you shall not encounter one…_ " It is just as his brows begin to frown when I dropped to a knee and I finish my words. " _I relinquish myself to you, Unkindled One. Do take my soul if your purpose is still to end this miserable existence that plagues us_ "

The man remains motionless for a moment, but I soon hear him swallow and scurry to the side to gather his abandoned weapon. He strides back to me then and he speaks when he stands before my figure again. " _I vow to you, Prince Lothric of the lands of Lothric, that I will fell the incarnation of the old Lord Gwyn to put an end to the Age of Fire. I swear it upon my ashes, Prince_ " A promise sworn upon someone's ashes is stronger than the oath of a Knight of Carim. A promise never to be broken – It is what seals my agreement to his quest.

He is already raising his sword when I speak for a last time, smiling knowingly under my cowl. " _Your vow I take, Ashen One – that which you never shall break. Take now my soul and tarry not, for time grows short in the dusk of existence. And remember, Great Champion…that endure you must, if a vow you seek to uphold…for no pain can best your commitment, and no light can blind your devotion…_ "

And his sword nicks already my throat when he completes my words. " _…Then endure I shall, Prince. For I am ash and my word is sound still. So it shall be_ "

And as I lay bloodied upon the floor, I find myself uttering " _…So it shall ever be_ …" before everything around me turns goes dark.

* * *

I was doubting myself already when I arrived back at the Shrine. What meaning did my word have after all? Was it sound as I claimed it to be? Who was to judge my worth? Wouldn't it be for the best to link the Flame? To give those still alive a reason to live? I pondered and pondered, until I passed the threshold to step into the spacious chamber of a place I learned to call my home, and I neared those who I learned to call my friends.

It didn't take long to discover Sirris was dead.

Die in peace she had, when I was away. My blonde caretaker took me to her grave, where the shield of her father laid. She left me there on my own, maybe to allow me a moment to reflect, maybe to go seek her true love. Maybe something else entirely. Frankly, I couldn't have cared less.

Because, in the end, it doesn't even matter.


	11. Dueling Souls

Why hello there, young Ashen One. Have you, perhaps, come to best me?

No, that's alright, no need to hide anything. I was in the same spot as you are, after all.

Oh, I still remember when I strode in here to challenge the Soul of Cinder that came before me…

I'm the Soul of Cinder, by the way. Nice to meet you. You may also know me as 'Lord Gwyn', or 'That dude who sat at the Throne of Want', but you may call me whatever you want, it doesn't really bother me. Though somedays I still wish somebody could call me Bob for one last time…

Bah, don't listen to my rambles! You're not here for that, are you? No, of course you are not – you're the Ashen One after all!

You're not here to chat. You're here to fight. To prove to me you are worthy of taking my mantle.

Again, don't play coy with me – no hard feelings, I assure you. It's the cycle of the fire, isn't it? A chosen undead rises to rekindle the first flame when its fire starts to fade. That's how it always has been, for countless upon countless of years.

Now, come here. Let me have a look at you.

…Hmm, you're certainly a bit skinny, but you carry that big sword like you know how to use it, I'll give you that. Though your armor really strikes me as odd, you know? What creature would wear a helm with a face on it? I certainly wouldn't. Neither those who came before me.

Oh, yes, the souls of all the previous Lords of Cinder say hi. They tell me you look like a worthy adversary. Well, at least most of them. There's always that Giant who keeps asking for a bigger foe after all these years.

What, you thought you were the first to challenge me? Silly you, Ashen One, a hundred warriors have tried to slay me before you came!

There is something you are not understanding, Ashen One. I am not solely the keeper of the Flame in _your_ world. I'm the keeper of the flame in _all_ worlds. You're just the last in a long line of contenders I've faced today.

No, don't take it so badly, I'm sure you'll do better than all the others! At least I hope you will. I'm getting tired of rising up to deal with your lot.

So, shall we fight?

Atta boy, that's the spirit! Here, I'll let you land the first hit

…Ouch, that kind of hurt a little, made me stagger and all. You're the first to do that in years, kid, you should feel proud of yourself!

Now, how about I show you what I can do?

Here, dodge! Roll! Sidestep! Parry!

No, kid, see, you're doing it the wrong way. You sure know how to swing your sword, but your rolling game is just plain bad!

Tell you what; I'll switch styles to something a bit easier to counter. Sounds good to you? Great! Let's see how you deal with some good old fashioned magic.

I'll make the first move now. A simple crystal hail – that shouldn't be so hard, right?

…Perhaps I've underestimated the reach of my attack…how about a soul greatsword then?

Come on, kid! I was practically telling you I would do that attack! Don't hold back, now, show me what you got!

Here's an easy one, a soul stream. Long channel time and a big window to hit me. I'm really hoping you prove me right this time!

…Well kid, I expected better of you. You did certainly look the part alright. But whatever, beggars can't be choosers right? I'll still be here if you want to try it again.

I'll still be here. Forever.

* * *

Come back, haven't you? Oh, and you brought a friend to aid you! That's just wonderful.

I've always liked beating the crap out of a bunch of gankers.

Oh, you thought I'd play nice? Well, I would have, but you just had to go and bring your buddy along. It isn't my fault, you see. You've brought this upon yourself.

…Is your friend drawing a bow over there? _A bow_? You're telling me that you friend plans to help you take out the great Soul of Cinder using that toothpick-shooting contraption made out of wood?

Now you've done it.

First I'll kill off that sniper. Yeah, that's right; roll away, while you can. You'll get tired soon enough. What's that you're switching to? A crossbow? Well that's just more shameful, isn't it?

How about I switch things up as well?

Tell me, how well acquainted are you with polearms?

Wow, I'd say you still have a lot to learn about the world, kid. Didn't expect you to expire in just two hits!

Well, maybe the Ashen One will wail on me enough to make things interesting. Where is him, by the way?

…Really? By the door, waiting? You know what? I think it's time to show you a lesson, young man.

I'm sorry for stomping you so hard, but you need to revisit the strategy you've devised to defeat me.

See you around, Ashen One.

* * *

Ah, you're back. I had a feeling you'd wind up here sooner or later.

How I've been? Doing great, actually! One chosen undead from who knows where managed to bring me to my knees a couple of times – I really thought he had me at one point! Alas, I caught him with one lucky swing and I took him down, but the thrill had me feeling jolly for hours!

So, have you learned something from your mistakes?

You've seem to have, seeing as you've come alone. Without pitiful weapons. But what is that you're using there? A…giant machete? Well, suit yourself then. I'll be using my coiled sword.

Have at thee!

Yes! There we go, that's how you're supposed to roll! To the side! Again! Again! Careful now, I'm winding up this one…

…Oh no! What a shame, you couldn't roll in time. But that's alright, isn't it? You're getting up, so that means you can still fight, right?

…Did you just pull your Estus Flask in front of me?

Consider yourself dead.

* * *

Kid, I'm starting to think you're not suited for the job. Just think about it, how many times have we been here in the same situation, you and I? How do you know this time it'll be any different? You can't roll, can't time my attacks. You seem to understand the concept of good weaponry but you've barely used your arms for anything other than swinging away haphazardly.

What, you don't believe me? Fine then, show me what you got. I won't go easy on you anymore – in fact, I'll switch up to something you haven't seen.

I know for a fact that nobody knows how to fight against curved swords.

Bet you can't backflip like I can, Ashen One! But enough theatrics, let's finish this!

Outstanding! You dodged a point-blank pyromancy! That's a new one for you, let me tell you that.

Now, you seem to be in your element! Have you trained yourself for our fight? My, am I flattered!

Ow! Look at that, you did it again! You got me to stagger, you! I'm so proud…

You seem to be getting the hang of it by now – how about another switch? Let's go back to a regular greatsword, for now.

Okay, good, that's how you should roll. Let's see if you learned something from last time.

Wait for it…!

YES, THAT'S IT! You dodged it, I'm so proud of you!

To tell you the truth, you're the first to dodge that attack in a while. Everybody seems to get the timing wrong.

But don't let me distract you. Keep at it; I know you can do it!

…Well, you came close enough, I guess.

That's still progress, though! I was starting to get disappointed by you but you've shown me there's still room for growth in that body of yours.

Do come again, I'm quite eager to face you now. See you around!

* * *

Ah, look at you now! Aiding a friend, are you, kid?

It's alright, I would have stepped in to help my pal as well if I were you, it's not your fault this time that I will have to kill you.

At least you didn't come to face me with a bow. Magic is better than arrows, anyways.

Show me how you work that staff now!…Uh, no pun intended, you know.

Well, that soul spear hurt a little. I guess. Maybe your friend is too weak for you to fight at full power. Poor you, confined to the world of a weaker being.

Let me help you escape.

* * *

There you are, I was starting to miss yo–

…What did you say? You haven't come to fight? Well…okay then. You can leave your arms there, if you want.

So what can I help you with?

…Is that true? You don't want to link the First Flame? But why?

Your life sucks? You're telling _me_ that your life sucks? Do you know how long I've been here?

Yeah, me neither.

Your friends are dead? I don't even have any friends.

Your woman doesn't love you? Kid, I'm rocking a multi-millennial dry spell here.

No, don't feel bad – I get it that you're not in the same spot that I am, but you should try to put yourself in the shoes of somebody else, sometimes. You know?

Take that girl you told me about for example – what was it, Anri? Yes, her. She accomplished all her goals and was already dying by the time you met her. It was only a matter of time. Don't look at me like that, you know it was.

Your thief friend went to steal from a place that you _knew_ would mostly likely be where he'd meet his end, so that's actually your fault.

You should feel bad for _your_ actions.

And this girl, the Firekeeper? Man, don't those ladies have names or something? Do you really just call her 'Firekeeper'?

Sorry, I'm getting sidetracked.

So this girl. She doesn't love you.

Have you, perhaps, considered that doing a solid for someone doesn't mean they are bound to repay you? At least in the way you're thinking she should. She has a life too, you know? Have you ever sat to think about what might be going through her head? Don't lie to me now, you don't look the type.

And besides, there are a whole lot of women out there! Men too! Oh, you don't like men, well that's alright. Can't say the same here. I've got some mixed feelings swirling inside, courtesy of the pals that live in my chest.

No, I'm not hitting on you. I don't even have a mouth to kiss you or a…you know, to _you-know_ you.

Yeah, we should get back in topic.

Many women out there!

Beautiful! Ugly! Nice! Mean! You can pick anything you want, kid! Take it from me, or more accurately from my female predecessors. There's some interesting characters there.

Life goes on, get over it. There's no need to end the world for getting your heart broken.

Oh, don't be like that, I haven't said anything wrong! The truth is the truth.

…Could you stop hitting me?

I'm going to cut you.

I'm warning you.

…Don't say I didn't tell you.

* * *

Are you here to apologize? 'Cause if not I'm not even going to bother giving you a chance.

What is that? Did you come to face me with a broken straight sword? I never thought you were the type.

Yes, there's been some others who've tried to best me with a similar tool. They all died, since I'm still here, but some of my predecessors can't say they've accomplished the same.

Word on the grapevine is that some of them were beaten with a _torch_. A literal torch!

Your choice of weaponry has managed to make me want to fight you again, congratulations!

Though I don't know how much you'll last with that, seeing as you couldn't even best me with those ridiculously big blades you've brought with you before.

…Hold on a second, are you stripping naked?

Are you doing what I think you're doi–

OKAY, YES YOU ARE.

By the ancient dragons could you show some decency? Please! I'm getting mixed signals here.

H-hey! Don't use my embarrassment to your advantage, that's not fair!

You know what? Fuck you, Ashen One, I don't like you anymore.

* * *

Oh, look, it's _you_.

Let's get this over with quick.

Wow, you dodged. Good for you.

You dodged again, nice.

…Again?

You made me stagger?

The delayed attack…? You dodged that one too?

Have you been practicing, Ashen One?

Oh, definitely. You've been practicing, alright.

Let's switch up, then! Magic!

See, that's how you dodge the Crystal Hail! And the Greatsword!

The soul stream as well?

My, Ashen One, you're actually making me proud here!

Another switch! Curved sword!

Roll! Roll! Roll! Attack!

Yes, you did it!

Here comes the miracle…! Nice dodge, there!

Oh, I'm feeling a bit wobbly already – let's switch up again!

Dodge away from my polearm! There we go, took you some time to figure that one out, didn't it?

Another delayed attack. Another dodge.

Starting to feel like a real fight now, I'm really giving it my all!

Let's go back to the greatsword for a while, yes?

This should be easy, right?

A roll here.

A roll there.

An attack no–

…

…What is this?

Where the fuck am I?

This ain't Lordran anymore, I believe.

Though everything is still pretty much looking as fucked up as it was back home.

Wait a minute is that an Ashen One?

Wait, you're telling me _I'm_ the Soul of Cinder now? Where did Bob go?!

Is he tired? Did he die? Well, not that last bit, no. I'm still here after all, and this is his body.

Should I fight? I don't remember the last time I fought anyone…though I do remember that hideous sun-faced shield…

He seems to be staring at me. Am I on my knees? Why am I on my knees? Let's fix that up real quick.

And let's turn up the heat.

Ha! I knew he would fall for that. I learned that a long, long, _long_ time ago.

At least he's getting up. Some of my previous contenders didn't even manage that simple bit.

He's healing. That's alright, too. I'm not a monster – it's not my fault that he isn't a god like I am.

Was. That I was.

I'm looking a bit scorched and down in the dumps nowadays.

But enough about me. It's time to see what the chosen undead is made of.

Let's see if anybody's learned something after all these years. I'll start this off with a classic combo.

Ah! He seems to have enough wits about him to scurry away. I still remember killing a thousand contenders just like this.

Let's test his reaction a bit, then.

Yes! I knew he'd try to parry me! You see, I too have learned something in my many thousand years as part of the Soul of Cinder: Parrying is bloody overpowered when done right.

You won't catch me by surprise this time!

At least he managed to roll away. It would have been too bad if he died there.

Way to go Bob! You've found yourself quite the catch, here!

How about changing the pace a little, then? Dodge this! Sunlight spear!

Yeah, that was too easy, I know…how about…

…Wait for it…

BOOM! Bet you weren't expecting a whole downpour of lightning, weren't you?

Oh, wait, maybe you were.

Okay, yes, you definitely were.

I'm starting to think that I'm underestimating you here.

Furthermore, I'm starting to think that you kind of know just what attack I'm going to throw at you next. Like as if you've fought me before.

Though I have no memory of that.

Perhaps if…

No, see, the grab didn't work on you – now I'm sure you must have fought with me before. Nobody has been able to dodge away from that the first time I pull that trick on them!

Questions upon questions you're giving me here, kid.

…What's that? How many times did you fight me?

… _That_ many? Really? And you haven't defeated me?

Huh. I never knew I was still that powerful.

You're being a real good sport about all of this, you know? Even with me trying to kill you and that.

Well, since we're here, how about we both give it our best, then? That's the spirit!

Here goes nothing, kid!

Ha, nice dodge! I've killed more people with that jump that I can count.

Good rolling there, you seem to be very light on your feet.

…Oh my, you _can_ parry me after all! Though I don't know why you haven't tried to score a follow up attack after putting me in the ground.

Let's try the lightning storm again…

Yep! Still dodgeable, glad we got that across.

How about another explosion?

Ha! I did hit you there!

You're getting up, but I still hit you! Give me some credit here, you're dodging everything like you're the best of the best!

Heal again, I really don't mind! Estus is good for you, I assure you. I used to drink it all the time.

Now, put up your guard!

Roll!

Attack!

Roll!

Roll!

Atta–

…Well, this is new.

Or rather, different.

I don't remember the last time I've felt weakened.

Why aren't you attacking anymore…why aren't I attacking anymore?

I can't move my body…?

Have you…defeated me?

By the dragons! You did it!

So this is how defeat felt like…I'll tell you now that I didn't remember this.

It isn't so bad, it's like a burden has been lifted off my shoulders.

I'm sure you can relate, Ashen One.

I don't know how much you care about what I have to say…but I'm quite proud of you, you know?

I've been around for millennia, kid. I've seen all the warriors you could ever come to face. But not all of them have bested me like you did. That's a very small group you've just joined.

Yes, now I remember…I've fought with you before…many, many times, it would seem.

And…against many other Ashen Ones? Well, that I did not remember before.

Turns out the Soul of Cinder calls back to me after its been weakened enough, to have me be the final test for any contender.

Any you have passed the test kid.

Congratulations.

Don't mind me kid, I'm doing alright here. Catch your breath, sip your Estus. You've earned it.

But…could you stay here for a bit? Until I go dormant again…?

Thank you, Ashen One. You're a kind soul.

It's strange to see the Darksign shining it the sky again. To think I was there when it first came to be…

Yeah, I've been around for a while, haven't I? It doesn't really hit you until you find something like this…

I used to have kids too, you know? Wonder what's become of them…

Oh, they're dead…

Well, I suppose I expected that.

Even…?

He's dead too?

…Wait. He's been alive all these years until recently? My…

You could say I haven't been the best parent, I guess…Heh, ain't I a trainwreck…

But you shouldn't pay mind to the rambles of this old fart. After all, you'll be making the choices here, after a short while.

Oh.

I…see…

Well, it had to happen sooner or later, don't you think? To tell you the truth, I was kind of hoping you would tread down this path.

Shocking, isn't it? I was the first to link the flame, and now I am the last to tell you to don't do such a thing.

I'll be honest. Things haven't been as splendid as I thought they would be.

I thought I could bring about an age of prosperity and happiness…but the world doesn't seem to like those two words, don't you agree?

Indeed, it sure doesn't…

…

Oh, sorry, were you talking to me? I'm sorry, it's just…I think I'm already feeling a bit delirious. I missed dying. Such a releasing sensation…

Ashen One, I believe this might be it, now…Please, follow through with your word. Give us all a chance to start again, to make things right.

No, I don't know what'll happen when you let the darkness take over…but I have a feeling it won't be as bad as some say.

Heh, yeah…maybe I've gone a bit hollow after all…

But really, does it matter now?

 _Has it ever?_

* * *

Has it, now?


	12. Dark Souls

Word of advice: Lots of old English to read. Tread at thy own risk.

* * *

The world seemed to freeze. For a moment, she didn't breathe, didn't stir. The wind didn't blow, the birds didn't chirp, the flies didn't buzz.

For a tense, dreadful moment I feared I'd made a terrible, terrible mistake. But that moment soon came to pass, because there was nothing she could have done to stop me – I reminded myself of that.

I reminded myself of the spite I felt towards her, the bitter resentment I harbored for her. She had taken the only thing I ever wanted from me. Now, I was going to pay her in kind.

I steeled my senses in preparation for the battle that was sure to follow. She would not stand for my decision – that much I knew. Not when it went against everything she believed in. She was strong, but I was stronger. She would unleash her fury upon me at me at any moment, and only I would step out of her chamber alive.

" _…She nev'r quite liked this world, didst she not?_ " She let out in an evened, sad tone, right as I was plotting my strategies. Her words broke my stride in the most searing way possible, because of all the outcomes I had foreseen for our final encounter, this particular path was only a small, insignificant, windswept road hidden in the shade of the other terrible, violent walkways. And for the briefest of moments, I felt something that was surely akin to the pain she felt, because her _acceptance_ hurt me more than any of her miracles would have.

I found myself at a loss of words for a handful of seconds – more than enough for her to utter a follow-up to her previous words. She voiced her thoughts to the chamber, as she could not see where I stood due to her blindness, but I knew better than to misjudge her, for I knew she could see my dark soul writhing as clear as any other dreg.

" _Fret not, Ashen One. Thou won't find a quarrel with me_ " A brief pause would go by before she ultimately turned to stare straight at me, piercing my gaze with her dull eyes. " _I has't been privy to thy schemes for many a-nights now, Champion. Thy revelation doest not make me stir_ "

The silence returned to the chamber, wrapping itself around our rigid forms. But the tension that lingered before had now vanished, and I stood as so, contemplating the new thoughts that arrived to populate my mindscape.

After a while, I found the words in me to reply, relaxing the muscles I had primed to lash out at the Nun. My voice was a sound of ease, intertwined with grief. After all, it brought me no joy to carry on with my grim endeavor, even when I knew that my choice was the right one to make. Or at least I kept telling myself that. " _That is…good to hear, Irina. I did not want to hurt you, after all you've done for me_ " I put a great effort in setting aside my disdain, in appealing to my more peaceful side. She had chosen to respect my decision so I was going to respect hers as well. A playful chuckle broke through my lips before I could shut them tight, but the lady did not appear to be offended by my rude gesture. More so, she seemed quite delighted by the way the situation was developing.

That thought lasted until she opened her mouth to speak. " _Mistake not mine ease for acceptance, Champion. Knoweth thou that thy decree I doth not supporteth_ " Delighted was _not_ the right word to describe her, I had a feeling ' _defeated_ ' would suit her state better. She exhaled a breath into the stale chamber before she continued; finally trailing into the territory I knew we would drift towards, sooner or later. _"…Mine equal, howev'r, seems to has't taken thy side in this matter_ "

Her words were like a stake to my heart, even when I already was well acquainted with the truth they preached. My fists tensed and relaxed themselves unwittingly, as I stood there calming the rising sea of rage that bubbled under the amicable surface of my heart. I _was_ going to respect her decision – for Gwyn's sake, I was the Ashen One.

I would not be betrayed by my emotions.

I let out a heavy breath through my nose, speaking with a clipped tone. _"You should have known this. You should have foreseen this long ago_ " I stopped myself before I could add ' _but maybe you don't know her as well as you think_ '. I rephrased my last bit, even if vaguely so. " _You should have known better than me, at the very least_ " I silently congratulated myself in my diversion. I'd managed to make a statement that was mild and hurtful at the same time, but not excessively leaning towards any of the two. " _You should have known by now that she would never stand for 'this'_ " I gestured at the chamber with my hands, as to imply that ' _this_ ', meant ' _this sad, grey world_ '. I thoroughly knew that she would not see my gesture, but again, I knew better than to misjudge her. " _I'm sorry that it must be this way, Irina. But the Age of Fire needs to come to an end. For better or for worse_ "

I could see her throat working for a moment before she replied back. " _Then do as thou must, Champion_ " And she didn't need to say anything else to make it clear our conversation was over. I turned to leave as fast as I could, and I even got to take three valiant strides towards the exit, but soon enough a thought I had hidden at the back of my mind tugged at my heart violently enough to bring me to an utter stop, where I wrestled my inner turmoil for as long as I could before I ultimately gave in and I turned to stare back at her, already preparing my tongue to blurt out words I knew I wouldn't be able to back down from.

" _I love her, you know. I love her more than I love anything in this wretched world_ " I said to her in the most sincere tone I could muster. More pain breezed through my mind at the mention of my emotions, which only added more coal to the fire burning in my heart. Irina turned my way but didn't interject. She must have sensed I had more to say. " _I don't know how long it's been since I've felt this way, but I know my emotions well enough to know what they mean. I love her, and it's as simple as that_ " A pause. A gust blew away a pile of ash; a fly zoomed by, buzzing incriminatingly. My voice was a mere dusty thread when I spoke next, not to her but to the filthy floor. I couldn't bring myself to stare into her broken eyes. " _I can't bear to see her like this. To watch her suffer because she must shoulder the burdens of prolonging our pitiful existence. She does not deserve this, never did_ "

She didn't answer then, and neither in the minutes that followed. But her blind, expressionless eyes told me some quiet words when I finally met them. They said to me everything she did not.

They told me that she knew. That she knew I was _right_.

It reminded me that I wasn't the only one who had wept because of her. Or with her.

I swallowed a lump before I managed to voice the thought which I _knew_ needed to be given form to complete my reasoning. Ah, the pain. _"She has made her emotions clear to the both of us, Nun_ " That, she had. I found myself in a state of surprise when I finished speaking my mind and I wasn't swept by the pain I'd braced for. The only thing that washed over me was a wave of sadness. Maybe this was the last instance of mourning I needed to finally cleanse my heart of the bitterness. With this in mind I pushed myself some more. " _I haven't won her heart as you did…but I'll still do anything to see her smile in peace. One last time_ "

" _…Whatever it might take_ " I didn't need to add anything else to know that was my cue to leave. So I turned fast and finally got moving again, stopping only at the threshold of the Bell Tower to say " _Take care, Irina_ " before I strode outside, where the wind did blow and the birds did chirp. But I strode towards the Shrine in silence, reflecting upon my choices, never once looking back in doubt, but knowing that her eyes did not leave my drifting soul even when I was completely out of her sight.

* * *

" _I take it your chat with goldilocks went well enough_ " I stopped flat in my strides as the sound of her playful voice ringed in my ears. " _You're not covered in Nun blood, at least as far as I can tell_ "

I turned my head to give her a half-hearted smile. " _I got my point across alright, no fighting involved_ " I told her with a tired tone which made her giggle at me.

She took the next moment to reply. " _You've finally made up your mind, I see_ "

" _You'd know that, wouldn't you?_ " I snapped back. She made a little amused sound in her throat as she dislodged herself from the wall she was leaning on and joined me near the bonfire, walking with me.

" _Oh, I know a thing or two. I just wanted to make sure you did, as well_ " She told me in an evened tone that was not meant to be paired with such sad words. I tried to meet her eyes but I found them fixed straight ahead, faking interest over some sight or another. That alone managed to wound me more than the entire conversation with Irina did.

I breathed in a sharp mouthful of air before I started to blurt out " _Karla, I–_ ". But I never finished my thought, because she stopped me with one slim finger to my lips.

" _Shh, you don't need to explain anything to me. I've already told you this changes nothing_ " She put down her finger when she seemed certain I wouldn't try to talk over her. " _Champion, I know I never had any say in this matter. You are the famed Chosen Undead, not I_ " She waited another agonizing moment before she concluded her statement. " _But you're not a perfect being; we both know that you're as much a human as I am, if not more_ " And now she met my eyes, staring at them with her steely gaze. " _So I ask you now, not as a foe but as a friend: Are you certain this is what you want?_ "

I would have answered right away then. I would have said yes as fast as I could, and I would have meant it with at least a small bit of my dark soul.

But that wasn't her question – I wasn't nearly as oblivious as to not see through her feeble words, at this point in time. She had said it herself: she was a human after all, far from a perfectly deceitful being. In reality, what she wanted to ask me was ' _Are you certain this is what she wants?_ ', and that enough made me stay my tongue.

We were a few strides past the seat of the vigilant Handmaiden when I slowed to a halt and I stayed my gaze towards a distant, hazy point past the small forge of our Smith. I lost myself in thought then, chasing an elusive answer for such a question.

 _Was this what she wanted?_

 _What, exactly, did she want?_

I wanted to tell myself I knew the answer to both, but then again, I wouldn't find any comfort in lying to my own self. I'd granted her sight to have her witness the misery of our lives, to sway her to agree to a cause I would then forget about, only to embrace it once again when I found not a single trace of hope left in the world to latch on to. She was still there to lend her aid on our ultimate sacrilege, despite finding her love again and despite bringing a new life to the Shrine with her kindness and her good heart, too pure for the likes of us. I'd asked her why she bothered, and she'd said that ' _the Age of Fire might have been damned since its very beginning, but us who commuted in it didn't deserve such a cruel fate. Not everything had to crumble, for even ash could be rekindled_ '. I tried to understand, at first…but then again, why bother? Why perpetuate such a horrible existence? Why fool everybody with a mirage of hope when there wasn't any?

To me, that was the cruelest thing she could have done.

But I didn't intervene, because it won't matter in the end. All would be consumed; all would be erased and forgotten, leaving a blank slate for…for _something_ _else_ to exist in place of our world. Something better, perhaps. 

I heard then a lowly, grim chuckle to my side, which broke my trance and brought me right back to the Shrine, where I turned to look at Karla the moment she decided to speak, not towards me but towards someplace beneath us. _Anywhere_ but towards me. " _After all this time…you still love her, don't you?_ " Her eyes were sad, but they still clutched on to what little traces of her pride she retained. She was defeated, but she was not about to break down. So she tried to employ sarcasm to hide her pain, failing yet again in deceiving me. I saw right through her eyes and into her very soul, finding nothing but a shattered sight of heartbreak.

With such an image in my mind, the lashing ' _what if's_ ' returned to haunt me with guilt as their companion, battering the doors of my mindscape. But I forced myself to endure, to cast away such distractions, telling my for a second time that at the end of all things, the endless possibilities would cease to matter.

But now was not the end, I had to agree with our _Firekeeper_. From each and every outcome, I allowed one single, particular possibility to continue existing in my mind.

I placed my hand to her shoulder, gently, edging closer to her with a short step. " _Karla_ " I started, loud enough, reassuringly enough, to try and sooth her, comfort her. The witch would not bring her eyes to meet mine until I brought my other hand to her chin to tip her face in my direction. She stared into my eyes with emotions abroad bubbling in hers, and I knew then that she didn't deserve to be forgotten, she didn't deserve to have to hide each and every feeling she harbored in her bosom which stood on solid pillars and foundations. I had rescued her when her knight did not; I had given her a home when the world had rejected her; I had accepted her nature where no-one else had. Some time ago, I'd sensed she no longer saw me as her student but as her equal and something more instead. I knew, and yet I did not act upon it, as my heart was not set on her at that time.

Now, what my heart dictated mattered not, for everything was bound to come undone soon. But not everybody deserved such a bitter, bleak dusk to their tale.

I closed the gap between us as I planted a heartfelt kiss on the lips of the witch, which she instantly returned with a feverish heat. But soon enough, maybe too soon, I was backing away; slowly edging back as I tried to fight the grip she had gotten on my hair, clutching to me with intentions of never letting go. She gave in after a few moments and released me, immediately looking away as to try and hide her obvious blush. Her breathing was quite ragged too.

But I had her look back at me yet again, for I was not done yet.

In her eyes I saw _love_ , bright and clear. _Love_ outweighing the betrayal inflicted by my choice to aid Anri instead of her other student, Yuria. _Love_ in such a pure state almost nobody could exhibit. _Love_ so utterly unrequited that it _hurt_ to look at.

Swallowing hard, I spoke to her a few final, pivotal words as I gazed into her smoldering eyes. " _Maybe on our next lives, my teacher_ " I caressed her cheek with my thumb, and she leaned slightly into the touch, closing her eyes for a moment simply to bask in the coarse sensation of my fingertips. She breathed deep then, and let out a shuddering breath before she opened back her eyes and met my gaze once more.

She didn't deserve this. From everybody I had met during my adventure, she was truly the only one who didn't deserve this. Not the Nun, or the Smith, or anybody who still lived. Not ever _her_. The Dark Witch had suffered simply because of her existence, and she had suffered enough. She deserved the happiness I could have brought to her. The peace, the calm and the quiet.

But I was a human after all, and what was done couldn't be undone.

The silent burning was gone from her pupils, replaced by the usual crackling of ebbing embers. " _I'll – I'll take your word for it, my student…_ " she whispered at me, trying as best as she could to bring back some of her usual pride to her words and failing appallingly at doing so. I didn't make a comment on it, as I believed she noticed on her own.

She didn't say anything else as we resumed our short walk and we parted ways when we reached the small forge of our trusted Smith, who we already found waiting for me to approach him. As parting salutations, we exchanged a short, knowing nod. Not a kiss, not a hug. Now was not the time for either.

That was a chance I refused to take long ago.

* * *

My encounter with the Smith transpired, at first, in a complete and utter silence. We stared at each other for minutes on end, neither of us saying a word to each other, even though, judging by the look he was giving me and the look I was surely giving him, we both had some things to say to each other.

Andre was the one who broke the silence in the end, grunting an idle, gruff noise as he turned to rummage in one of his many piles of weaponry and armor pieces, turning back once he had an object in his hands: The Great Machette of Yhorm.

We both stared the impressive piece of metal for a few seconds before he broke the silence. " _I…I wanted tha give ye back yer weap'n. I…I took t'liberty to hammer it inta shape with 'at slab ye brought back_ " He made a quick, little motion for me to take it off his hands and so I did, hefting it as if it did not weight as much as it did. I brought it close to my eyes to inspect its finish under the warm orange candlelight, finding its edge freshly re-sharpened and its bulk reinforced with as much titanite as its was physically possible to pour into one weapon. I feared it could even cut through the air itself.

I inspected the weapon as best as I could, trying to honor the dedication the Smith had put into upgrading it, taking in each and every slight improvement made upon the original metalwork, slinging it over my shoulder after a few moments. I stared at Andre then, giving him a quick, approbatory nod which I believed to be more than enough as a show of gratitude for the man. He nodded as well, and even seemed to want to say a few words, but his mouth never got to open, because I beat him to it.

" _Thank you, Andre. I fear I wouldn't have been able to work my way past the Wall of Lothric without your aid…"_ I told him, in a tone that left no room to any discussion. A warrior's weapons were only as good as their smith, and no-one was as good a smith as Andre.

The old man grunted animatedly at my comment, bringing one of his calloused hands to rub the back of his neck while he occupied his other with passing a small scrap of titanite between his digits, absentmindedly. For a brief moment I looked at him with a bittersweet look in my eyes, toying with the thought that if he deserved to be forgotten as well. He had a life, a past, a soul. He did not deserve to lose it all…did he?

Perhaps, but nothing ever was black or white in our existence, that much I had learned.

I didn't unearth the truth of his story by his own volition. Throughout the days and nights I began to gather snippets of his shrouded past as I mingled with the denizens of the Shrine. I came to learn that much like myself, he vehemently awaited the moment the First Flame would finally burn away its last remaining embers.

And much like myself again, he had fallen rather hard for one breathtakingly beautiful _Firekeeper_ , who ultimately didn't embrace his love as well. He didn't resent me, so I didn't resent him. The past was the past. He respected the path she'd taken, and the one she had chosen as the sole owner of her heart. However, he'd still do anything to see her smile for one last time, even after all these years.

" _I…Ah've been 'round fer a long time now, Champion…Ah've seen many of yer lot come n'go, swingin' yer arms about_ " Andre started, with his gaze still unable to meet my mine. " _Ah forged their weapons an' I polished their armors, all tha see 'em link tha Flame in t'end_ " he spoke with an air of forlorn that showed me just how ancient the man was, and how much he'd seen in his days.

He continued. " _Yer not tha first t'want t'snuff the light…though ye sure are t'first tha come this far_ " The crackling of the bonfire was the sole comfort to our ears for a moment. " _…Ah've lost too much already tha want t'aid 'nother one of ye, but 's not my call to guide ya. Do what yer heart tells ya tha do, Champion. Don't–_ " His words trailed into nothing as I found his gaze scorned and wounded. Without thinking it, I gave the man a powerful hug, which he didn't return but that he seemed to appreciate as he nodded into my shoulder. I recoiled back a moment later, to find him speaking for one last time, his eyes now on me.

" _Don't sit around like this ol' man…fer cryin' out loud, go see that she's happy n'the end, ya 'ear me?_ " He never could have said it to me directly, to bring about the dark, for her. But I understood him clearly.

" _You have my word on it, my friend_ " I uttered back at him as I turned and skipped away to go meet one last person before I'd have to face my destiny, shortly after hearing again the dull ' _clang's_ ' of his incessant hammering, shaping weapons until the end of time.

* * *

I found him outside.

" _Upped already. That was fast_ " I said in a joking tone as I walked up to him, sitting beside the man at the ledge of the cliffside, staring at the endless dunes of ash that stretched outwards into the horizon, far below us. A quiet breeze made its way past us before my companion decided to answer.

He let out a quick, laughing breath through his nose, and spoke with a soft tone. " _I travel light, you see. My spear, my wares and my hide. No more and no less_ " He leaned back and grinned slightly as he continued. " _Does a bloke good when he has to see himself out_ "

Rivulets of ash swirled in the air, raised by mischievous winds. A small bird soared past us and made its way towards someplace far away, maybe a land untethered to our cursed existence, maybe not. I stared at Patches with eyes hardened after witnessing enough tragedy for a single day, or more accurately, many lifetimes. The man appeared to be at peace, collected, painfully aware of his surroundings. But I knew that wasn't right, for I'd already seen him for what he was: a man. A man, who despite choosing a deceitful path to follow didn't deserve to meet his end without knowing it would come for him.

Although, apparently, it seemed as if he'd already learned of that some time ago.

With his gaze still set on the outstretching dunes, he spoke before I could say anything. " _I know what you're here to do, friend. Don't bother_ " He made a short pause, swallowing what looked like a knot in his throat. Meanwhile, I pondered his words. ' _Friend_ ', he said the word without an ounce of guilt or remorse to weight on his voice. Further still, he even appeared to be genuine about his statement. I wouldn't go as far as to consider him a friend – Patches was many things, but not a good man – but hearing him talk…it did something to me, it warmed my heart. Maybe I was being desperate, clutching at ever small redoubt of kindness I could find – regardless, I chose to embrace the feeling, even when I knew that it would jump out of me with the next words the man would speak. Truth be told, I needed all the comfort I could muster, to carry on.

Patches continued. " _I'm no stranger to loss. Or defeat, for that matter. I was scamming and looting clueless undead folk long before you took your first baby steps, you see. Not all of my exploits were fruitful – take our encounter, for instance_ "

I giggled a little. " _I figured you had some years on you. I've been told Andre doesn't recognize many folks nowadays_ " His grin grew a bit at my words, showing a glint of teeth now. " _I knew something was up when I saw him glaring daggers at you_ "

Patches snickered, eyes glimmering with reminiscence. " _Yes, the Smith…Ah, never quite managed to trick the old fool_ " He went quiet for a moment, but soon enough he was talking again. " _Quite the sharp duck, isn't he?_ "

I nodded slightly at his words, as the brought back the memory of the talk with the man not ten minutes ago. " _Yes, he is_ " I whispered knowingly, both to him and to me. The man blew out an easing breath, leaning back and tipping his chin up to feel the breeze on his nose. I couldn't help but stare at him, feeling envious, self-conscious.

The words rolled off my tongue all on their own, without a warning, without any thought to back them. " _How do you do it?_ " I snapped at him, with a sharp edge to my tone.

" _Come again?_ " he murmured, not moving a muscle.

I forced myself to control my emotions. " _How do you do it, Patches?_ " this time, I sounded more hurt than anything, opening a floodgate I wouldn't be able to close in time. " _How do you manage to keep going, keep smiling, keep doing what you do? You said it yourself; you're no stranger to loss…_ " I lowered my eyes to the ground. My next words were barely louder than a whisper. " _I keep telling myself to just get on with this…but I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know if it's right or wrong or what everybody wants, Patches. I don't even know if it is what I want_ " I allowed myself a moment to breathe, and release my fisted hands. My eyes drifted downwards to the grass before I continued. " _It's hard, you know? To face everybody, each man and woman there, and just take their flak or offer them a shoulder to cry away their acceptance…but after…after what happened to Orbeck and Greirat, I–_ "

But he didn't let me continue. " _Don't_ " He started, his tone very neutral, but commanding. " _Don't do that_ " He straightened up and stared back at the dunes of ash, and only then I realized he hadn't met my eyes once.

Mildly confused, I blurted out " _Do what?_ " before I could give any thought to what he said.

He shook his head as he replied. " _Remember, friend_ " And on that not, he finally turned his head and stared straight into my eyes, seriousness completely overrunning his gaze. " _I learned that a long time ago. The key to keep your wits about you in these toilsome lands_ " He paused for a moment, and I could see his throat work subtly, making me wonder just how much the man followed his own advice. " _Forget everything you leave behind. Sure, you can do you grieving and mourn your losses – we're still humans after all…_ "

He turned to stare at the horizon again. " _But do try to walk away from all that hurts you, that's how you'll survive, and that's what I did…_ " Staring at one side of his face, I could only see a slight bit of the grin which crept its way to his lips. " _After all, I'm Unbreakable, aren't I?_ " And then silence.

The wind continued to blow. The birds still soared in the distance, the embers of the bonfire still softly crackled, warmly. But the both of us remained there static, silent, staring at everything all at once. He still looked calm and collected, and the grin was still on his lips.

I tried to put on a neutral expression, to tell myself I couldn't feel any more pain, but surely enough the tears slowly began to drizzle down my face, puddling on the dirt beneath me. He might have done his mourning already, but I knew I wasn't quite finished with mine yet. Patches said nothing, didn't even look at me. Of course, he must have taken notice of my state, but he was smart enough to know his place. He stood there beside me for a long while, unmoving but comforting, reassuring. A tangible reminder that not every path led to a bright destination, and that sometimes you had to take decisions on your way that would weight on you.

I didn't think he was right, that forgetting everything was the answer. Forgetting meant you didn't care enough, and that wasn't who I wanted to be…but maybe in my case, in _our_ case, forgetting and being forgotten was, perhaps, the _only_ answer. And for better or for worse, I had to accept that to be able to set aside my doubts and worries, and to keep pushing forwards.

There would be people who didn't deserve this, like the Smith.

There would be people who didn't support this, like the Nun.

But none of that mattered, because the choice was mine to take.

Because _I_ was the Ashen One, as the Dark Witch had said.

And I too would be Unbreakable.

Feeling considerably more solid, I dried my tears with my the back of my hand and I got up to back away from the precipice. I breathed in and out for a little while, easing my stomach, and then I looked at Patches again, who I continued to find utterly captivated by the sight before us. I considered for a moment that he could have been lying to me, for all I knew. He could have been trying to comfort me in the only manner he knew how. But I quickly discarded that thought, because in all honestly he had exceedingly accomplished his goal.

" _So what are you going to do now?_ " I asked him, loud and clear, trying to steady my voice as best as I could. Patched turned to face me at this, flashing me one his usual sly grins.

" _Oh, this and that, really. You know me_ " He replied, walking towards the Shrine, past the giant tree. " _Find new fools to trick, dig up new wares to sell – I'm a traveling merchant at heart, there is always something to do for those of my ilk. Rest assured I won't fall into boredom_ " He finished, dodging past the stone archway and disappearing down the stairs.

I hurried to follow him, voicing one last question. " _Got some place on your sights, you dog?_ "

He guffawed at my words. " _You could say that, yes. Word has it something is piking in interest at the end of the world. Something big_ " We descended the last steps and made a turn for the main entrance, stopping at the threshold. " _No clue where that might be, sadly. Perhaps I'll walk Lothric for a while longer, to clear my mind or something like that_ " He continued.

I put my hand out for him, smiling brightly. " _I wish you the best of luck, Patches. In anything you might venture out to do_ " He shook my hand, squeezing maybe a bit too tight, as if he was trying to pour all of his emotions into that single touch.

" _Luck for you as well, friend. Do try to stay alive, if you can. Though if you croak for good be a saint and have someone pass the word to me, alright? Those riches you're carrying are much too marketable to be left to rust_ " He replied, making me laugh again. We both put down our hands and he finally turned around in a stiff motion, facing the outside. " _Take care, Ashen One_ " he muttered over his shoulder, a moment before he stepped out of the Shrine and started walking away. It was the first time he'd called me ' _Ashen One_ ', but the words didn't even register in my mind on that moment, as I forced myself not to weep again.

And as I stood there I mouthed a nigh-inaudible " _You too_ ", before heading back inside to finally, _finally_ , face my destiny, finding her there already waiting for me. We both shared a grim, knowing look as I set out to place the cinders of the Lords on their respective thrones, remembering the promise I'd made to Price Lothric as I placed his and his brothers remnants on the highest seat. As I stepped down towards the bonfire, a thought ran through my mind in a loop, in an attempt to reassure me even more that I was doing what _needed_ to be done.

The thought was that _Gwyn_ may be damned if I wouldn't keep my promise.

" _Is it time, Ashen One?_ " She asked me as I approached her, her eyes telling me she already knew the answer to her question.

I knelt by the bonfire to begin the ritual, catching from the corner of my eye the sight of each and every inhabitant of the Shrine, whom had gathered around the chamber to witness my ascent to Lord. I'd like to say I didn't feel anything at such a sight, much to close to the end of my journey to hesitate in any form…but I would be lying, because seeing them there for me was the single most heart-warming thing I'd witnessed in my life. I blew out a shuddering breath to steady myself, and I allowed a confident grin to flourish into my lips as I looked straight at the _Firekeeper_ and I answered her question. " _Indeed, the time has come_ " And then she started chanting.

* * *

 _Has it ever?_

The armored protector of the flame vanished into nothingness, consumed by the ravenous void inside of me.

The Soul of Cinder was no more.

I had won.

My grip faltered. My sword cut the air as it fell into a pile of ash, raising a grey cloud that lingered for a brief moment before settling on the battleground once more. My fingers twitched very slightly, and my arm refused to heed my command, frozen in place. My whole body, in fact, seemed to rebel against my will, rooting me in place. However, my throat didn't close and my heart didn't pound my chest. I found myself experiencing a rush of ease so strong that nothing in me knew how to react to it.

I had won.

I stood there in silence, enveloped by silence. No breeze seemed to blow in this place, and no manner of critter dared to scurry along the lifeless fields of ash, or the dregs of a crumbling existence. The only sounds that were mine to hear were the rushing of blood in my ears, and the soft crackling of the embers which weakly fueled the First Flame.

Before me, a meager bonfire was laid out; it's fire similar to those of other bonfires and utterly different at the same time. The flames didn't seem as warm, as fresh. They looked as if they'd burning for a long, long time. More time than anyone could even begin to comprehend.

And now it was time to give them their due rest.

I began to stride towards it, one practiced step at a time. My body acted all on its own, edging ever closer in reaction to a purpose buried in the deepest and most primal corners of my mind: To seek the warmth, to embrace the Flame. For a moment, there was nothing I could have done to stop myself from becoming the next host of the Soul of Cinder – as I said, my body acted out of primordial instinct. I fought to regain control of my actions, but my failure was only logical.

Destiny had its ways of making itself be met. Regardless of choice.

But not even Destiny could account for every possible interference.

" _Has't thou felled thy opponent yet, mine Champion?_ " Her voice rung out right through the silence, breaking my stride. All at once, I could feel myself regaining my grasp on my actions, and to that I smiled, for I knew then that I had trumped over Destiny. The thought reminded myself briefly of Anri, and of her crusade to shatter the chains that bound her to a cause she never abided to. A sharp stab of pain punctured my chest right over my heart, but it ceased to exist just as quickly as it came to be.

I turned to face the archway marking the entrance to see my _Firekeeper_ slowly walking along the ashen field to reach me, as if she had the entire time of our reality at her disposal to prolong her short stride, seemingly undeterred by the dauntless nature of the task she was about to perform.

Even as tired as I was, I still found myself giving her a half-hearted smile. " _That, I have done_ " I told her as she walked past me, kneeling in front of the dying flame. For a moment, neither of us said anything, but she soon broke the silence, speaking towards the fire, tenderly.

" _'Tis beautiful, is it not?_ " I knelt to her side as she continued, an orange glow dancing over her factions. She sighed weakly, blowing out a defeated breath right into the tendrils of fire, swaying them aside. The peaks were so fickle that they threatened to die away out of such a tiny, singular motion. " _Such a tender sight…and yet so sad…_ "

I didn't say anything as I sensed it was not my time to speak up. I allowed her to fully express herself. She turned ever so slightly to face me. " _Ashen one, forgive me if this soundeth strange…The eyes show a world without fire, a vast stretch of darkness, but…'tis different to what is seen when stripped of vision_ "

" _How so?_ " I found myself replying, both intrigued and confused by her quizzical words.

The _Firekeeper_ turned again to stare into the flames, her eyes losing themselves in the dancing shades of orange. She spoke with a voice that betrayed a distrust of her own words. " _In the far distance, I sense the presence of tiny flames. Like precious embers, left to us by past Lords, linkers of the fire_ " She made a pause, swallowing what look like doubt before she face me again and presented me with a question. " _Could this be what draws me to this strangely enticing darkness?_ "

And I responded in the only way that I knew how. " _Only one way to find out_ " She offered me a kind smile before she reached towards the fire with her hands and she grabbed a tiny speckle of a living flame, letting it die out in her hands, followed by the bonfire of old, and then the light of the world. This was it, then.

This was the end.

…No, that wasn't quite right. This was _an_ end.

Without the crackling of the bonfire, no sound rang true in my ears. Not a breeze, not my breathing, not my blood. Nothing. The world around us quickly became a cold sight of darkness. Harsh and yet soothing, like the darkness that came when you closed your eyes to sleep, to submerge yourself in a calm, restful dream.

In the darkness I let out a shuddering breath, assuring myself for a final time that everything I ever did, I did it out of necessity and nothing else. The Age of Fire began long ago to meet its end like all other things, and we had orchestrated it, as such was our purpose.

In a moment, I could feel myself being erased, being emptied…in short, I could feel myself going hollow, becoming an empty vessel for a greater cause, for something more to come, maybe…I tightened my chest just to feel for one last time, and I readied myself to drift away…

But then something unexpected reeled me back to consciousness.

Far away, a distant light began to flicker in and out of existence, to which I didn't pay much attention at first as I continued to brace myself for erasure. But the light began to expand then and to close in on me until the darkness around me was no more and I found myself surrounded by what I could only describe as ' _visions_ ' of some sort. Visions that were, would have been and could have been – sight of worlds different from our own, of choices taken by a Champion of Ash that was me and somebody else entirely at the same time. I saw myself linking the flame, or pledging it to the Church of Londor. Meeting my aides in different circumstances, with thoroughly different outcomes. Some visions were warm. Some were akin. Some were cold. And each of them represented a path I could have chosen but I did not.

' _The nature of Lothric is murky…_ ' I'd been told. ' _The flow of time…convoluted_ '

I never quite understood those words; spoken to me by the Smith, quoting a long-gone friend of his. The end of all things had to fall upon us for me to finally realize their meaning.

Lothric was where a dozen lands of different eras converged onto each other, tearing asunder the fabric of time and intertwining the worlds of a thousand, thousand heroes, allowing thus the summoning of champions and creating, as a consequence, a plethora of divergent time-streams that existed together at every instant from then on out.

…The truth was that I didn't really understand my own babbling as they became progressively more theoretical, but still a clear concept could be taken from my explanation: Our world was only one of many and our choices were meaningless to other worlds. The flame would continue to burn in some occasions, as it would be snuffed in others.

Our choices didn't even matter in the grand scheme of things, and so I finally managed to convince myself there was no remorse that could take hold of me.

Alas, I continued to be utterly and completely wrong.

" _Ashen One,_ _hearest thou my voice, still?_ " Her womanly voice broke through the darkness and the silence like the truest of spears, disturbing my peace and taking me away from the visions, bringing me back to the black picture of nothingness that surrounded us. How was it possible for her to utter words at a time like this? Had she not gone hollow yet?

I urged myself to answer her. " _I do_ " I told her in a raspy tone. The contrast between our voices was quite peculiar. For another moment, I heard nothing, but the sound of her shuffling quickly reached my ears, and it wasn't long until the _Firekeeper_ bumped into my form, pressing herself against me, if only slightly. Her arms did not come around my form right away – she seemed to hesitate for a quick moment before her delicate fingers made contact with the hardened metal plate of my backguard. She held me in silence for some time; minutes, hours, ages, I didn't know how much time passed in the dark.

After a while, she finally decided to say something to me. " _Doth thou recall still thy first torrid days, mine Champion?_ " she started, breaking not our embrace. A short, humorous cackle rippled across her chest before she continued. " _Pardon mine words, but…I nev'r bethought thou would ever wend so far_ "

I felt compelled to answer to her. " _You're not alone on that…I fell quite far from grace in the early days…but I managed to climb back in the end. Despite it all_ "

She tightened the grip around my form. " _That, thou has't done, mine Champion…_ " She laughed loudly to herself before she completed her thought. " _Despite it all_ "

Her kind words soothed me greatly…enough, perhaps, to make me forget, that nothing else mattered at this point. Suffice to say, my tongue began to act on its own before I could prevent myself from ruining our peace by showing my true colors.

It came out in a hurried, strangled tone. " _I love you, you know?_ " I made a pause. I swallowed a knot in my throat, working on my breathing. " _For a long time now_ "

I expected her to recoil away, to turn me down. I even expected a slap, or a violent, explosive reaction. But all that came out of her mouth was a wise " _I know_ " and she didn't even break the hug as she said it.

I was utterly sure that my heart was, in fact, bucking wildly in my chest. " _I has't known for a long time, in fact. It wasn't much too hard to notice_ " I could swear she was looking up at me as she spoke, but I couldn't see anything past the…well, I couldn't see anything.

I wanted to say something, to add my grain of salt to defend myself a bit, but she trampled me over with her words. _"A wench cannot share a bed with someone without peering into their insides, if 't be true just a bit_ " She spoke in a coy tone, as if her words didn't weight on me as much as they did.

She didn't add anything else as she continued to hug me tightly…so I took my chance to reply back, letting out a handful of words I'd been wanting to say to her for some time.

My tone was almost dripping with venom as I spoke. " _And yet you chose the Nun over me_ " I knew there was no coming back from such a statement, so I didn't pretend as if it hadn't come out of my lips.

But again, she didn't snap away or retort angrily, only hugged me a nigh-imperceptible bit harder. " _I hope thou didst not take it too badly, Champion…but Irina and I…we wast meant to beest_ " She let out a saddened breath. " _Our story runneth deep…you wouldst not understand…_ "

And I didn't. I didn't understand anything at this point. Only that I had had enough of her. I pushed her away in a single motion, maybe a bit harder than I should have, and she fell flat on the ashen floor. " _You're right. I don't_ " I practically spit out at her, contempt with letting my spite loose for a moment.

The _Firekeeper_ heaved herself up as she replied to me, her tone neutral when it should have been bitter, the words coming out of her mouth with ease, as if she'd been repeating them in silence for some time now. " _Thou can push me and wail on me to thine heart's content. Thou mayst yell at me, fig me, even harm me_ " She was up and storming towards me as she continued. " _Thou mayst satiate thy need for retribution for as long as thou wanteth, but ask thyself this in return, mine Champion_ " She came up to me and locked her eyes with mine, even though she couldn't see where they were, and I couldn't see where hers were. We both knew that didn't matter. She reached with her hands for my own and intertwined her digits with mine before I could pull away in anger. And then she spoke, her voice no longer neutral – just resentful, and completely thronged with pain. " _Doest it matter now? …Hath it ever?_ "

I stifled a gasp as the realization hit me, my hands leaving hers as I tried, unwittingly, to put some distance between us. Then the words spilled out of my mouth, both as a statement and as a question, my voice at the very edge of breaking. " _You didn't even want this_ "

She didn't say anything, but I could hear her sniffling clearly enough. A ragged breath broke through my lips, my chest feeling hollow and my mind delirious. " _You didn't even want this_ " I said again, to reassure myself of it. I brought a trembling hand to my mouth. " _What have I done?_ "

I'd doomed us all.

I'd doomed us all for nothing.

My knees hit the ground, buckling, and I stayed there breathing heavily, repeating the words " _What have I done?_ " by the low, over and over and over again, feeling myself sinking, very slowly, into a sea of regret.

But I never quite went under, because a powerful blow to the face shook me out of my trance. I didn't even feel the slap, to be honest – just that my head turned rapidly. I blinked away the haze to sense her there at my side, panting between sniffles. It took me a moment to piece it together, but I finally realized she had struck me as her weak voice rang in my ears, struggling not break.

" _C-Compose thyself, Champion. The days of lamenting art…gone, now_ " Her digits touched my singed cheek, caressing my skin tenderly. We laid there breathing amidst the dark, sprawled on top of tenths of piles of old ash. She didn't take her hand away from me and I didn't dare to move it, as I was still affected by the shock.

Sometime later I finally felt myself solid enough to talk with her. I licked my dry lips before I spoke in a hollow whisper. " _You didn't even want this, did you?_ " I edged a bit closer to her, putting my arms around her frame in a comforting hug, as if nothing had happened between us.

She let out a heavy breath before she answered; her tone breathy and saddened. " _No_ " She said bluntly, working her throat. " _No, Champion. 'Tis far from what I wanted_ "

" _You lied to me_ " I started, with not a hint of bitterness in my voice. " _To her_ " As she had said: the days of lamenting were long gone now. The days of questioning, however, had not faded away just yet. " _Why? Why did you help me with this if you didn't have a reason to?_ "

Her answer was colder than the shadows themselves. " _I didst not holp thee because I wanted to, Champion…_ " Her hands found mine again, clutching at them with a vice grip. When she finished her statement her voice was little more than a passing summer breeze. " _…I helped thee because it was the right thing to do_ "

I couldn't help but interject, shaking my head in the dark. " _Don't._ _Don't say that, we didn't do the right thing. There is no such thing_ " I believe my hands tightened their grip on hers as well, all on their own. " _We only did what needed to be done_ " And it was at that point that I actually understood what came after.

" _Because it was never about us in the first place…_ " She took the words right out of my mouth.

I kept on talking, in an attempt to delay the silence. " _I…I feel kinda stupid saying it, but…_ " I chuckled lightly at my own silliness. " _So it shall be, I guess_ "

She, herself, laughed a bit too before replying, giving my hand a hearty squeeze. " _So it shalt ever beest_ "

I chuckled again as I continued to shun away the silence, less discreetly this time. " _It sure feels good to say that…where did that saying even come from, I wonder…_ "

" _It is older than time itself, some sayeth_ " She replied. " _We continue to use it as our fathers and forefathers did, and as those who came before them. It gives a sense of perpetuity to thy spoken words, elevating their worth_ "

I peered at her in the dark as I spoke. " _Did we use in the right context here? I don't think 'perpetuity' even matters at this point_ "

She made a silly sound in her throat, and I didn't know how, but I could tell that she was smiling. " _I wouldst not say that quite yet, mine Champion_ "

I raised an eyebrow to her words, even though she couldn't see it. " _I don't think I follow_ "

She waited a brief moment before she explained herself to me, in a cryptically confident voice. " _The flame hath faded, the dark hath settled…but one day, mine Champion…one day, tiny flames wilt dance across the darkness. Like embers, linked by lords past_ "

I gave her a brief, good-willed laugh as a response. " _I take it that part of your speech wasn't a lie, then_ " My words may have sounded jarring, but the tone was dripping with irony.

Curiously enough, even in the dark I could tell her smile had grown into a sly, mischievous grin. " _Perhaps_ " She said, and we shared another warming fit of laughter.

I let out a calming breath. " _Well, I hope you're right there, blondie…_ " A moment went by, during which I debated with myself if I should ask a question that'd been pressing me for some time. I concluded that I should. " _Hey, uh, this may sound a bit weird, but…it's just – I still don't have a single clue about your name, you know?_ " Oh, I was a true paragon of eloquence. " _Do you even have a name?_ "

Truth is, I should have known what her answer would be when she turned to me and said " _Doest it matter now?_ ", but what can I say – I was still a human after all.

" _Figures_ " I muttered as I failed to hold my laughter again, giving up after she too started giggling.

And so we laughed and joked in the dark as the minutes and hours whisked away, taking pieces of our minds with them.

We laughed until we didn't have anything to laugh about, and then we laughed until we didn't remember how to. And as we laid there on the ground staring at dark, slowly forgetting who we were, I urged myself to ask her a single final question that it too had been bugging me for some time now.

" _So are you going to tell me what you see in her that I don't have?_ " But she didn't even get to answer me.

The dark embraced us as it had embraced everything else, and as it would continue to claim all that belong to it.

Because so it shall be, some may say. So it shall ever be.

For I had a feeling her words would remain true:

 _This was our true cycle, not of fire, but of dark._

 _A cycle of Dark Souls._

 ** _Fin_**

* * *

 **I…wow. That's that, I guess.**

 **I don't know how much you, the average reader, want to know about the stories you read, but indulge me for a moment, if you would, and read through these short lines with as much care as I've poured into writing them.**

 **I started writing the first scripts of this story in early 2017 after toying around with the Souls franchise for a little bit. I wrote the first chapter during a fit of boredom in an attempt to kickstart myself into a writing mood for my other projects. But the chapter ended up being good! In fact, it was so good that it good some of my friends giggling (Which is a rare treat!). I instantly knew I'd stumbled upon a gold mine. So I started thinking about a follow up.**

 **And off it went.**

 **Chapter Two and Chapter Three came to me rather quickly. The first as a balance to the lighthearted humor of the first Chapter and the second as a personal whim to see my characters behave as horny teenagers with quite a colorful vocabulary. At that point I had already uploaded Chapter One and it didn't take long for the next two to join it. However, a crisis hit me then.**

 **Okay, not a crisis, more like a 'loss of interest'. I didn't know what I wanted to do with the story I had created or how to do it, so I let it rest for a while…**

 **But then the ideas came to me! Chapter Four was written, trying to create a pattern with the Chapters: Odd Chapters would be comical and even Chapters would be serious/dramatic. So after chapter four, chapter five came sort of easily as I thought about " _what if the Lords of Cinder met to talk about the flame this one time…?_ "**

 **But then Chapter Six happened, and that's when everything went bonkers.**

 **Chapter Six was…a challenge, to say the least. It started off as way too verbose for me to continue writing in a consistent manner every time I sat down to add something to it, so again I just left it there to dry out in the sun for a few months. There was also the problem that I didn't know how to finish it, but that doesn't matter now, does it?**

 **Of course, I ended up giving it a wrap-up during a weekend of procrastination before an important exam _for which I had not studied a single bit_. In fact, I revised all of the other chapters and changed quite a few things about them during that weekend.**

 **I think it's safe to say that I work well under pressure.**

 **And when procrastinating.**

 **After Chapter Six I didn't come back to the story for a while as I centered my efforts on finishing another project of mine: a 50k+ words behemoth of a Chapter for another fanfic here _which you can go and read if you want_ that took up a lot (and I mean _a lot_ ) of my free time and mental capacity.**

 **A month or so into 2018 I didn't really think I would finish this story. For starters, I was fresh out of ideas for a new Chapter except for this last one, which I'd kind-of written already like a month after publishing the first Chapter, because _of course_ it was going to be called ' _Dark Souls_ '. It was only fitting. Then I started writing some other stuff, and blah blah blah time passed and all that.**

 **But then inspiration came to me out of nowhere, as I was taking a dump in a bathroom at my university.**

 **Chapter Seven was written, and with the fire back in my veins (and a hefty need for entertainment to brighten my boring life) I started plotting out the continuation and the finale for this tale.**

 **Originally, I was only going to do ten Chapters, excluding what you now may know as Chapter Ten and Eleven. But then I got to Chapter Nine and I thought to myself that I hadn't tackled _all_ the Lords of Cinder yet (believe it or not there's a small sense of progression in my story). So I wrote Chapter Ten, and then Chapter Eleven to keep up with my self-imposed odd/even thematic.**

 **I'd like to make a special mention for Chapter Eight, as I believe it's the best written piece of prose I've ever produced in my life. But let's move on.**

 **So then this Chapter was all that was left, and I felt like giving you all a long-spanning finale to wrap some of the 'arcs' I've set in motion.**

 **And…that's it I guess. I don't know what else there might be to say. Maybe I'll change this up in the future when something witty comes to mind. Maybe I'll just delete it all together and write a simple " _thank you for reading_ "**

 **Whatever. I hope you liked my story, and that my headcanon didn't incite you wrath, dear reader. Maybe I didn't approach the characters as you think I should have, maybe I didn't understand things as you do, but it is what it is, reader, and I hope you read this far to determine if I should hang for my crimes against the lore.**

 **Or not. Preferably not.**

 **I don't know if I'll write another Dark Souls fanfiction, but rest assured that I'll still be here for a while.**

 **And that does it now. That wraps it up.**

 ** _Thanks for reading_**

 ** _Fear not, the Dark, my friend._**

 ** _And let the feast begin_**

 **Much love; Elegate1.**


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